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The freethinking of one age is the common sense of the next.

Matthew Arnold

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Matthew Arnold
Age: 65 †
Born: 1822
Born: December 24
Died: 1888
Died: April 15
Journalist
Literary Critic
Poet
School Inspector
University Teacher
Writer
Laleham
Surrey
Wisdom
Age
Common
Inspirational
Sense
Next
Liberty

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I am bound by my own definition of criticism : a disinterested endeavour to learn and propagate the best that is known and thought in the world.
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The heart less bounding at emotion new, The hope, once crushed, less quick to spring again.
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For poetry the idea is everything the rest is a world of illusion, of divine illusion. Poetry attaches its emotion to the idea the idea is the fact. The strongest part of our religion today is its unconscious poetry.
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For this is the true strength of guilty kings, When they corrupt the souls of those they rule.
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Strew on her roses, roses, And never a spray of yew! In quiet she reposes Ah, would that I did too!
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Force and right are the governors of this world force till right is ready.
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Bald as the bare mountain tops are bald, with a baldness full of grandeur.
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Thought and science follow their own law of development they are slowly elaborated in the growth and forward pressure of humanity, in what Shakespeare calls ...The prophetic soul, Of the wide world dreaming on things to come.
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Religion--that voice of the deepest human experience.
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All the live murmur of a summer's day.
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The difference between genuine poetry and the poetry of Dryden, Pope, and all their school, is briefly this: their poetry is conceived and composed in their wits, genuine poetry is conceived and composed in the soul.
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Nor bring, to see me cease to live, Some doctor full of phrase and fame, To shake his sapient head, and give The ill he cannot cure a name.
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The brave, impetuous heart yields everywhere to the subtle, contriving head.
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Life is not having and getting, but being and becoming
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Because thou must not dream, thou need not despair.
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Alas! is even love too weak To unlock the heart, and let it speak?
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For what wears out the life of mortal men? 'Tis that from change to change their being rolls Tis that repeated shocks, again, again, Exhaust the energy of strongest souls And numb the elastic powers.
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Say, has some wet bird-haunted English lawn Lent it the music of its trees at dawn?
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Thou waitest for the spark from heaven! and we, Light half-believers in our casual deeds . . . Who hesitate and falter life away, And lose tomorrow the ground won today- Ah, do not we, Wanderer, await it too?
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What is it to grow old? Is it to lose the glory of the form, The lustre of the eye? Is it for Beauty to forego her wreath? Yes but not this alone.
Matthew Arnold