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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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Thomas Gray
Age: 54 †
Born: 1716
Born: December 26
Died: 1771
Died: July 30
Literary Critic
Poet
London
England
Mines
Mine
Romances
Eternal
Flute
Playing
Flutes
Pleasure
Consist
Lying
Pleasures
Upon
Romance
Read
Eternity
More quotes by Thomas Gray
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
We frolic while 'tis May.
Thomas Gray
To each his suff'rings: all are men, / Condemn'd alike to groan, / The tender for another's pain / Th' unfeeling for his own.
Thomas Gray
I shall be but a shrimp of an author.
Thomas Gray
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
Youth smiles without any reason. It is one of its chiefest charms.
Thomas Gray
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
Nor grandeur hear with a disdainful smile The short and simple annals of the poor.
Thomas Gray
Alas, regardless of their doom, the little victims play! No sense have they of ills to come nor care beyond today.
Thomas Gray
Visions of glory, spare my aching sight! Ye unborn ages, crowd not on my soul!
Thomas Gray
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
E'en from the tomb the voice of nature cries, E'en in our ashes live their wonted fires.
Thomas Gray
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
The paths of glory lead but to the grave.
Thomas Gray
And truth severe, by fairy fiction drest.
Thomas Gray
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
To brisk notes in cadence beating, glance their many-twinkling feet.
Thomas Gray
Ah, happy hills! ah, pleasing shade! Ah, fields beloved in vain! Where once my careless childhood stray'd, A stranger yet to pain! I feel the gales that from ye blow A momentary bliss bestow.
Thomas Gray
O'er her warm cheek, and rising bosom, move The bloom of young Desire and purple light of love.
Thomas Gray
Any fool may write a most valuable book by chance, if he will only tell us what he heard and saw with veracity.
Thomas Gray