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

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.
Chord
Mirth
String
Chords
Melancholy
Strings
Attuned

More quotes by Thomas Hood

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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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With fingers weary and worn, With eyelids heavy and red, A woman sat in unwomanly rags, Plying her needle and thread.
Thomas Hood
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The Autumn is old The sere leaves are flying He hath gather'd up gold, And now he is dying- Old age, begin sighing!
Thomas Hood
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Sweet are the little brooks that run O'er pebbles glancing in the sun, Singing in soothing tones.
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!
Thomas Hood
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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
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We watch'd her breathing through the night, Her breathing soft and low, As in her breast the wave of life Kept heaving to and fro.
Thomas Hood
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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.
Thomas Hood
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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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How bravely Autumn paints upon the sky The gorgeous fame of Summer which is fled!
Thomas Hood
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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!
Thomas Hood
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Oh! God! That bread should be so dear, and flesh and blood so cheap!
Thomas Hood
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Apothegms form a short cut to much knowledge.
Thomas Hood
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When he is forsaken, Withered and shaken, What can an old man do but die?
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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And ye, who have met with Adversity's blast, And been bow'd to the earth by its fury To whom the Twelve Months, that have recently pass'd Were as harsh as a prejudiced jury - Still, fill to the Future! and join in our chime, The regrets of remembrance to cozen, And having obtained a New Trial of Time, Shout in hopes of a kindlier dozen.
Thomas Hood
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How bless'd the heart that has a friend. A sympathizing ear to lend.
Thomas Hood
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To attempt to advise conceited people is like whistling against the wind.
Thomas Hood
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For my part, getting up seems not so easy By half as lying.
Thomas Hood
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Whoe'er has gone thro' London street, Has seen a butcher gazing at his meat, And how he keeps Gloating upon a sheep's Or bullock's personals, as if his own How he admires his halves And quarters--and his calves, As if in truth upon his own legs grown.
Thomas Hood