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O bed! O bed! delicious bed! That heaven upon earth to the weary head.

Thomas Hood

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Thomas Hood
Age: 45 †
Born: 1799
Born: May 23
Died: 1845
Died: May 3
Humorist
Poet
Writer
London
England
T. H.
Heaven
Upon
Earth
Insomnia
Delicious
Weary
Bed
Head
Sleep

More quotes by Thomas Hood

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O men with sisters dear, O men with mothers and wives, It is not linen you 're wearing out, But human creatures' lives!
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Whilst breezy waves toss up their silvery spray.
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The year's in wane There is nothing adorning The night has no eve, And the day has no morning Cold winter gives warning!
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Half of the failures in life come from pulling one's horse when he is leaping.
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No blessed leisure for love or hope, But only time for grief.
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So mayst thou live, dear! many years, In all the bliss that life endears
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How bless'd the heart that has a friend. A sympathizing ear to lend.
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When he is forsaken, Withered and shaken, What can an old man do but die?
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Our very hopes belied our fears, Our fears our hopes belied We thought her dying when she slept, And sleeping when she died.
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I saw old autumn in the misty morn Stand shadowless like silence, listening To silence.
Thomas Hood
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What joy have I in June's return? My feet are parched-my eyeballs burn, I scent no flowery gust But faint the flagging zephyr springs, With dry Macadam on its wings, And turns me 'dust to dust.'
Thomas Hood
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Experience enables me to depose to the comfort and blessing that literature can prove in seasons of sickness and sorrow.
Thomas Hood
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Some dreams we have are nothing else but dreams, Unnatural and full of contradictions Yet others of our most romantic schemes, Are something more than fictions.
Thomas Hood
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Frost is the greatest artist in our clime - he paints in nature and describes in rime.
Thomas Hood
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My brain is dull, my sight is foul, I cannot write a verse, or read-- Then, Pallas, take away thine Owl, And let us have a lark instead.
Thomas Hood
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Father of rosy day, No more thy clouds of incense rise But waking flow'rs, At morning hours, Give out their sweets to meet thee in the skies.
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Alas for the rarity Of Christian charity Under the sun!
Thomas Hood
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Lives of great men oft remind us as we o'er their pages turn, That we too may leave behind us - Letters that we ought to burn.
Thomas Hood
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I saw old Autumn in the misty morn Stand shadowless like silence, listening To silence, for no lonely bird would sing Into his hollow ear from woods forlorn, Nor lowly hedge nor solitary thorn- Shaking his languid locks all dewy bright With tangled gossamer that fell by night, Pearling his coronet of golden corn.
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To attempt to advise conceited people is like whistling against the wind.
Thomas Hood