Quote

Well, something must be done for May, The time is drawing nigh-- To figure in the Catalogue, And woo the public eye. Something I must invent and paint But oh my wit is not Like one of those kind substantives That answer Who and What?

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.
Time
Eye
Drawing
Like
May
Figure
Wells
Paint
Well
Figures
Catalogue
Done
Answer
Nigh
Must
Painting
Catalogues
Kind
Answers
Invent
Something
Public
Wit

More quotes by Thomas Hood

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How bless'd the heart that has a friend. A sympathizing ear to lend.
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O bed! O bed! delicious bed! That heaven upon earth to the weary head.
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Such a blush In the midst of brown was born, Like red poppies grown with corn.
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I love thee - I love thee, 'Tis all that I can say, It is my vision in the night, My dreaming in the day.
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A man that's fond precociously of stirring , :: Must be a spoon.
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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 shade, no shine, no butterflies, no bees, No fruits, no flowers, no leaves, no birds - November!
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Alas for the rarity Of Christian charity Under the sun!
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There's a double beauty whenever a swan Swims on a lake with her double thereon.
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While the steeples are loud in their joy, To the tune of the bells' ring-a-ding, Let us chime in a peal, one and all, For we all should be able to sing Hullah baloo.
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Oh would I were dead now, Or up in my bed now, To cover my head now, And have a good cry!
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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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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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Oh, if it be to choose and call thee mine, love, thou art every day my Valentine!
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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Whilst breezy waves toss up their silvery spray.
Thomas Hood
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The Quaker loves an ample brim, A hat that bows to no salaam And dear the beaver is to him As if it never made a dam.
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.'
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So mayst thou live, dear! many years, In all the bliss that life endears
Thomas Hood
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There is not a string attuned to mirth but has its chord of melancholy.
Thomas Hood