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Youth smiles without any reason. It is one of its chiefest charms.

Thomas Gray

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Thomas Gray
Age: 54 †
Born: 1716
Born: December 26
Died: 1771
Died: July 30
Literary Critic
Poet
London
England
Without
Chiefest
Charms
Smiles
Charm
Smile
Youth
Reason

More quotes by Thomas Gray

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Implores the passing tribute of a sigh.
Thomas Gray
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To brisk notes in cadence beating, glance their many-twinkling feet.
Thomas Gray
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Dear as the light that visits these sad eyes, Dear as the ruddy drops that warm my heart.
Thomas Gray
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Her track, where'er the goddess roves, Glory pursue, and gen'rous shame, Th' unconquerable mind, and freedom's holy flame.
Thomas Gray
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Thought would destroy their paradise.
Thomas Gray
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E'en from the tomb the voice of nature cries, E'en in our ashes live their wonted fires.
Thomas Gray
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Nor grandeur hear with a disdainful smile The short and simple annals of the poor.
Thomas Gray
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Sweet is the breath of vernal shower,/ The bee's collected treasure sweet,/ Sweet music's melting fall, but sweeter yet/ The still small voice of gratitude.
Thomas Gray
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Far from the madding crowd's ignoble strife Their sober wishes never learn'd to stray Along the cool sequester'd vale of life They kept the noiseless tenor of their way.
Thomas Gray
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Not all that tempts your wandering eyes And heedless hearts, is lawful prize Nor all that glisters gold.
Thomas Gray
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Hands that the rod of empire might have sway'd, Or waked to ecstasy the living lyre.
Thomas Gray
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To Contemplation's sober eye. / Such is the race of Man.
Thomas Gray
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The boast of heraldry, the pomp of pow'r, And all that beauty, all that wealth e'er gave, Awaits alike th' inevitable hour. The paths of glory lead but to the grave.
Thomas Gray
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The curfew tolls the knell of parting day, The lowing herd winds slowly o'er the lea, The ploughman homeward plods his weary way, And leaves the world to darkness and to me.
Thomas Gray
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How low, how little are the proud, How indigent the great!
Thomas Gray
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And truth severe, by fairy fiction drest.
Thomas Gray
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As to posterity, I may ask what has it ever done to oblige me?
Thomas Gray
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Where'er the oak's thick branches stretch A broader browner shade Where'er the rude and moss-grown beech O'er-canopies the glade, Beside some water's rushy brink With me the Muse shall sit, and think.
Thomas Gray
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To each his suff'rings all are men, Condemn'd alike to groan,- The tender for another's pain, Th' unfeeling for his own. Yet ah! why should they know their fate, Since sorrow never comes too late, And happiness too swiftly flies? Thought would destroy their paradise. No more where ignorance is bliss, 'T is folly to be wise.
Thomas Gray
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Full many a gem of purest ray serene, The dark unfathomed caves of ocean bear.
Thomas Gray