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There's little comfort in the wise

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
Comfort
Wise
Littles
Little

More quotes by Rupert Brooke

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But only agony, and that has ending And the worst friend and enemy is but Death.
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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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I have need to busy my heart with quietude.
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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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These laid the world away poured out the red Sweet wine of youth gave up the years to be Of work and joy, and that unhoped serene, That men call age and those who would have been, Their sons, they gave, their immortality.
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Incredibly, inordinately, devastatingly, immortally, calamitously, hearteningly, adorably beautiful.
Rupert Brooke
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Cities, like cats, will reveal themselves at night.
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But there's wisdom in women, of more than they have known, And thoughts go blowing through them, are wiser than their own.
Rupert Brooke
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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.
Rupert Brooke
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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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.. . . would I were In Grantchester, in Grantchester!
Rupert Brooke
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Youth is stranger than fiction.
Rupert Brooke
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In your arms was still delight, Quiet as a street at night And thoughts of you, I do remember, Were green leaves in a darkened chamber, Were dark clouds in a moonless sky.
Rupert Brooke
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Down the blue night the unending columns press In noiseless tumult, break and wave and flow
Rupert Brooke
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Love is a breach in the walls, a broken gate, Love sells the proud heart's citadel to fate.
Rupert Brooke
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Just now the lilac is in bloom All before my little room.
Rupert Brooke
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Mud unto mud!--Death eddies near-- Not here the appointed End, not here! But somewhere, beyond Space and Time, Is wetter water, slimier slime!
Rupert Brooke
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All the little emptiness of love!
Rupert Brooke
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The worst of slaves is he whom passion rules.
Rupert Brooke