Quote

The social states of human kinds Are made by multitudes of minds, And after multitudes of years A little human growth appears Worth having, even to the soul Who sees most plain it's not the whole.

John Masefield

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John Masefield
Age: 88 †
Born: 1878
Born: June 1
Died: 1967
Died: May 12
Journalist
Novelist
Poet
Writer
County of Herefordshire
John Edward Masefield
Humans
Worth
Whole
Growth
Even
Social
Multitudes
Made
Littles
Plain
Kind
States
Appears
Mind
Soul
Sees
Years
Little
Kinds
Human
Minds

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O lovely lily clean, O lily springing green, O lily bursting white, Dear lily of delight, Spring in my heart agen That I may flower to men.
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Man's body is faulty, his mind untrustworthy, but his imagination has made him remarkable.
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The corn that makes the holy bread By which the soul of man is fed, The holy bread, the food unpriced, Thy everlasting mercy, Christ.
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Commonplace people dislike tragedy because they dare not suffer and cannot exult.
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All I ask is a tall ship and a star to sail her by.
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The three foundations of judgement: Bold Design, Constant Practice, and Frequent Mistakes.
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Life, a beauty chased by tragic laughter.
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When Life knocks at the door no one can wait, When Death makes his arrest we have to go.
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Oh some are fond of Spanish wine, and some are fond of French.
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God dropped a spark down into everyone, And if we find and fan it to a blaze, It'll spring up and glow, like--like the sun, And light the wandering out of stony ways.
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State are not made, nor patched they grow Grow slow through centuries of pain, And grow correctly in the main But only grow by certain laws, Of certain bits in certain jaws.
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Death opens unknown doors. It is most grand to die.
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I must go down to the sea again, to the lonely sea and the sky and all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by.
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I must down to the seas again, to the vagrant gypsy life, To the gull's way and the whale's way where the wind's like a whetted knife And all I ask is a merry yarn from a laughing fellow rover, And quiet sleep and a sweet dream when the long trick's over.
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On the long dusty ribbon of the long city street, The pageant of life is passing me on multitudinous feet, With a word here of the hills, and a song there of the sea And-the great movement changes-the pageant passes me.
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I have seen flowers come in stony places And kind things done by men with ugly faces, And the gold cup won by the worst horse at the races, So I trust, too.
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Quinquireme of Nineveh from distant Ophir, Rowing home to haven in sunny Palestine, With a cargo of ivory, And apes and peacocks, Sandalwood, cedarwood, and sweet white wine.
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The days that make us happy make us wise
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Life's battle is a conquest for the strong The meaning shows in the defeated thing.
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Off Cape Horn there are but two kinds of weather, neither one of them a pleasant kind.
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