Quote

There is not a string attuned to mirth but has its chord of melancholy.

Thomas Hood

Change background

T
T
T

Change font

TAGS & TOPICS

Thomas Hood
Age: 45 †
Born: 1799
Born: May 23
Died: 1845
Died: May 3
Humorist
Poet
Writer
London
England
T. H.
String
Chords
Melancholy
Strings
Attuned
Chord
Mirth

More quotes by Thomas Hood

Image
So mayst thou live, dear! many years, In all the bliss that life endears
Thomas Hood
Image
Such a blush In the midst of brown was born, Like red poppies grown with corn.
Thomas Hood
Image
Ben Battle was a soldier bold, and used to war's alarms, But a cannon-ball took off his legs, so he laid down his arms.
Thomas Hood
Image
For my part, getting up seems not so easy By half as lying.
Thomas Hood
Image
Apothegms form a short cut to much knowledge.
Thomas Hood
Image
Bells are musics laughter.
Thomas Hood
Image
A man that's fond precociously of stirring , :: Must be a spoon.
Thomas Hood
Image
Fuss is the froth of business.
Thomas Hood
Image
Whilst breezy waves toss up their silvery spray.
Thomas Hood
Image
A name, it has more than nominal worth, And belongs to good or bad luck at birth
Thomas Hood
Image
Experience enables me to depose to the comfort and blessing that literature can prove in seasons of sickness and sorrow.
Thomas Hood
Image
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
Image
O bed! O bed! delicious bed! That heaven upon earth to the weary head.
Thomas Hood
Image
I love thee - I love thee, 'Tis all that I can say, It is my vision in the night, My dreaming in the day.
Thomas Hood
Image
To attempt to advise conceited people is like whistling against the wind.
Thomas Hood
Image
How bravely Autumn paints upon the sky The gorgeous fame of Summer which is fled!
Thomas Hood
Image
The moon, the moon, so silver and cold, Her fickle temper has oft been told, Now shade--now bright and sunny-- But of all the lunar things that change, The one that shows most fickle and strange, And takes the most eccentric range, Is the moon--so called--of honey!
Thomas Hood
Image
I remember, I remember The roses, red and white, The violets, and the lily-cups, Those flowers made of light! The lilacs, where the robin built, And where my brother set The laburmum on his birthday,- The tree is living yet.
Thomas Hood
Image
When he is forsaken, Withered and shaken, What can an old man do but die?
Thomas Hood
Image
O men with sisters dear, O men with mothers and wives, It is not linen you 're wearing out, But human creatures' lives!
Thomas Hood