Quote

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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Thomas Gray
Age: 54 †
Born: 1716
Born: December 26
Died: 1771
Died: July 30
Literary Critic
Poet
London
England
Thing
Call
Spots
Columns
Artificer
Every
Upon
Operations
Statues
Lustre
Another
Forth
Marble
Quarry
Beautiful
Shape
Square
Animate
Give
Degrees
Veins
Vein
May
Shapes
Squares
Gloss
Giving
Steps
Spot
Column
Different
Education
Compared
Statue

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Implores the passing tribute of a sigh.
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We frolic while 'tis May.
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O'er her warm cheek, and rising bosom, move The bloom of young Desire and purple light of love.
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And truth severe, by fairy fiction drest.
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Hands that the rod of empire might have sway'd, Or waked to ecstasy the living lyre.
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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.
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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
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The applause of list'ning senates to command, The threats of pain and ruin to despise, To scatter plenty o'er a smiling land, And read their history in a nation's eyes.
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The hues of bliss more brightly glow, Chastis'd by sabler tints of woe.
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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.
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The Attic warbler pours her throat, Responsive to the cuckoo's note, The untaught harmony of spring.
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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.
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The paths of glory lead but to the grave.
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When love could teach a monarch to be wise, And gospel-light first dawn'd from Bullen's eyes.
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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.
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How low, how little are the proud, How indigent the great!
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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?
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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.
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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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Thought would destroy their paradise.
Thomas Gray