Quote

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?

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
Lose
Spark
Loses
Casual
Heaven
Sparks
Wanderer
Half
Believer
Falter
Away
Deeds
Await
Light
Thou
Wanderers
Today
Ground
Hesitate
Life
Tomorrow
Believers

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Grey time-worn marbles Hold the pure Muses. In their cool gallery, By yellow Tiber, They still look fair.
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Because thou must not dream, thou need not despair.
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I keep saying, Shakespeare, Shakespeare, you are as obscure as life is.
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The brave, impetuous heart yields everywhere to the subtle, contriving head.
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Creep into thy narrow bed, Creep, and let no more be said!
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Sand-strewn caverns, cool and deep, Where the winds are all asleep Where the spent lights quiver and gleam Where the salt weed sways in the stream.
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Religion is ethics heightened, enkindled, lit up by feeling
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Know, man hath all which Nature hath, but more, And in that more lie all his hopes of good.
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Children of men! the unseen Power, whose eye Forever doth accompany mankind, Hath look'd on no religion scornfully That men did ever find.
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Culture being a pursuit of our total perfection by means of getting to know, on all the matters which most concern us, the best which has been thought and said in the world.
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Come, dear children, let us away Down and away below!
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Unquiet souls. In the dark fermentation of earth, in the never idle workshop of nature, in the eternal movement, yea shall find yourselves again.
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They... who await. No gifts from Chance, have conquered Fate.
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Who hesitate and falter life away, and lose tomorrow the ground won today.
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O strong soul, by what shore Tarriest thou now? For that force, Surely, has not been left vain!
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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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One has often wondered whether upon the whole earth there is anything so unintelligent, so unapt to perceive how the world is really going, as an ordinary young Englishman of our upper class.
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Whoever sets himself to see things as they are will find himself one of a very small circle but it is only by this small circle resolutely doing its own work that adequate ideas will ever get current at all.
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Style ... is a peculiar recasting and heightening, under a certain condition of spiritual excitement, of what a man has to say, in such a manner as to add dignity and distinction to it.
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Years hence, perhaps, may dawn an age, More fortunate, alas! than we, Which without hardness will be sage, And gay without frivolity.
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