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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

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Thomas Gray
Age: 54 †
Born: 1716
Born: December 26
Died: 1771
Died: July 30
Literary Critic
Poet
London
England
Heard
Chance
Write
Tell
May
Veracity
Book
Valuable
Writing
Saws
Fool

More quotes by Thomas Gray

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The different steps and degrees of education may be compared to the artificer's operations upon marble it is one thing to dig it out of the quarry, and another to square it, to give it gloss and lustre, call forth every beautiful spot and vein, shape it into a column, or animate it into a statue.
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.
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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Some bold adventurers disdain The limits of their little reign, And unknown regions date descry.
Thomas Gray
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Implores the passing tribute of a sigh.
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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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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Alas, regardless of their doom, the little victims play! No sense have they of ills to come nor care beyond today.
Thomas Gray
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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
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O'er her warm cheek, and rising bosom, move The bloom of young Desire and purple light of love.
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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The hues of bliss more brightly glow, Chastis'd by sabler tints of woe.
Thomas Gray
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How low, how little are the proud, How indigent the great!
Thomas Gray
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Along the cool sequestered vale of life, They kept the noiseless tenour of their way.
Thomas Gray
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Poetry is thoughts that breathe, and words that burn.
Thomas Gray
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To brisk notes in cadence beating, glance their many-twinkling feet.
Thomas Gray
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Scatter plenty o'er a smiling land.
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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And moody madness laughing wild Amid severest woe.
Thomas Gray