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A book may be compared to your neighbor: if it be good, it cannot last too long if bad, you cannot get rid of it too early.

Rupert Brooke

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Rupert Brooke
Age: 28 †
Born: 1887
Born: January 1
Died: 1915
Died: January 1
Poet
Rugby
Warwickshire
Rupert Chawner Brooke
Rupert Chaucer Brooke
Lasts
Last
Neighbour
Funny
Compared
Cannot
Neighbor
May
Library
Book
Early
Long
Good
Reading

More quotes by Rupert Brooke

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Infinite hungers leap no more I in the chance swaying of your dress and love has changed to kindliness.
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Youth is stranger than fiction.
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There are only three things in the world, one is to read poetry, another is to write poetry, and the best of all is to live poetry.
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Fish say, they have their Stream and Pond But is there anything Beyond?
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The cool kindliness of sheets, that soon smooth away trouble and the rough male kiss of blankets.
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Just now the lilac is in bloom All before my little room.
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War knows no power. Safe shall be my going, Secretly armed against all death's endeavour Safe though all safety's lost safe where men fall And if these poor limbs die, safest of all.
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Incredibly, inordinately, devastatingly, immortally, calamitously, hearteningly, adorably beautiful.
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Cities, like cats, will reveal themselves at night.
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I shall desire and I shall find The best of my desires The autumn road, the mellow wind That soothes the darkening shires. And laughter, and inn-fires.
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Breathless, we flung us on a windy hill, Laughed in the sun, and kissed the lovely grass.
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Proud, then, clear-eyed and laughing, go to greet Death as a friend!
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Hearts at peace, under an English heaven.
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But only agony, and that has ending And the worst friend and enemy is but Death.
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If I should die, think only this of me: that there's some corner of a foreign field that is for ever England.
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It's all a terrible tragedy. And yet, in it's details, it's great fun. And - apart from the tragedy - I've never felt happier or better in my life than in those days in Belgium.
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Now, God be thanked Who has matched us with His hour, And caught our youth, and wakened us from sleeping, With hand made sure, clear eye, and sharpened power, To turn, as swimmers into cleanness leaping.
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I have need to busy my heart with quietude.
Rupert Brooke
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The worst of slaves is he whom passion rules.
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Oh! death will find me, long before I tire Of watching for you and swing me suddenly Into the shade and loneliness and mire Of the last land!
Rupert Brooke