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Poetry is thoughts that breathe, and words that burn.

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
Words
Poetic
Burn
Gray
Breathe
Poetry
Thoughts

More quotes by Thomas Gray

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To Contemplation's sober eye. / Such is the race of Man.
Thomas Gray
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I shall be but a shrimp of an author.
Thomas Gray
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T'was Spring, t'was Summer, all was gay Now Autumn bears a cloud brow The flowers of Spring are swept way And Summer fruits desert the bough
Thomas Gray
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We frolic while 'tis May.
Thomas Gray
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Ah, tell them they are men!
Thomas Gray
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Visions of glory, spare my aching sight! Ye unborn ages, crowd not on my soul!
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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For who, to dumb forgetfulness a prey, This pleasing anxious being e'er resign'd, Left the warm precincts of the cheerful day, Nor cast one longing ling'ring look behind?
Thomas Gray
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Some bold adventurers disdain The limits of their little reign, And unknown regions date descry.
Thomas Gray
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Large was his bounty, and his soul sincere, Heaven did a recompense as largely send: He gave to mis'ry (all he had) a tear, He gained from Heav'n ('t was all he wish'd) a friend.
Thomas Gray
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Thought would destroy their paradise.
Thomas Gray
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The paths of glory lead but to the grave.
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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To contemplation's sober eye, Such is the race of man And they that creep, and they that fly, Shall end where they began, Alike the busy and the gay, But flutter through life's little day.
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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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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Now as the Paradisiacal pleasures of the Mahometans consist in playing upon the flute and lying with Houris, be mine to read eternal new romances of Marivaux and Crebillon.
Thomas Gray
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Fair laughs the morn, and soft the zephyr blows, While proudly rising o'er the azure realm In gallant trim the gilded vessel goes, Youth on the prow, and Pleasure at the helm.
Thomas Gray
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From toil he wins his spirits light, From busy day the peaceful night Rich, from the very want of wealth, In heaven's best treasures, peace and health.
Thomas Gray
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The hues of bliss more brightly glow, Chastis'd by sabler tints of woe.
Thomas Gray