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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
Writing
Saws
Fool
Heard
Chance
Write
Tell
May
Veracity
Book
Valuable

More quotes by Thomas Gray

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Can storied urn, or animated bust Back to its mansion call the fleeting breath? Can Honour's voice provoke the silent dust, Or Flatt'ry soothe the dull cold ear of Death?
Thomas Gray
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Ah, tell them they are men!
Thomas Gray
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Implores the passing tribute of a sigh.
Thomas Gray
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Ye towers of Julius, London's lasting shame, With many a foul and midnight murder fed.
Thomas Gray
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Poetry is thoughts that breathe, and words that burn.
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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Some bold adventurers disdain The limits of their little reign, And unknown regions date descry.
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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Dear as the light that visits these sad eyes, Dear as the ruddy drops that warm my heart.
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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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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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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Visions of glory, spare my aching sight! Ye unborn ages, crowd not on my soul!
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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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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Nor grandeur hear with a disdainful smile The short and simple annals of the poor.
Thomas Gray
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In buskined measures move Pale Grief and pleasing Pain, With Horror, tyrant of the throbbing breast.
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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Full many a gem of purest ray serene, The dark unfathomed caves of ocean bear.
Thomas Gray