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After all, what is every man? A horde of ghosts - like a Chinese nest of boxes - oaks that were acorns that were oaks. Death lies behind us, not in front - in our ancestors, back and back until.

Walter de La Mare

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Walter de La Mare
Age: 83 †
Born: 1873
Born: April 25
Died: 1956
Died: June 22
Novelist
Poet
Prosaist
Writer
Charlton
London
Walter Ramal
Walter John de la Mare
Death
Ghost
Acorns
Back
Chinese
Nest
Every
Fronts
Oaks
Men
Front
Nests
Like
Lies
Ghosts
Behinds
Ancestors
Behind
Ancestor
Lying
Boxes
Horde

More quotes by Walter de La Mare

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An hour's terror is better than a lifetime of timidity.
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God has mercifully ordered that the human brain works slowly first the blow, hours afterwards the bruise.
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But beauty vanishes beauty passes However rare rare it be And when I crumble, who will remember This lady of the West Country?
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Three jolly huntsmen, In coats of red, Rode their horses Up to bed.
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The only catalogue of this world's goods that really counts is that which we keep in the silence of the mind.
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Too late for fruit, too soon for flowers.
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What a haunting, inescapable riddle life was.
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Oh, no man knows Through what wild centuries Roves back the rose.
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For beauty with sorrow Is a burden hard to be borne: The evening light on the foam, and the swans, there That music, remote, forlorn.
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He got out of bed and peeped through the blinds. To the east and opposite to him gardens and an apple-orchard lay, and there in strange liquid tranquility hung the morning star, and rose, rilling into the dusk of night the first grey of dawn. The street beneath its autumn leaves was vacant, charmed, deserted.
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So, blind to Someone I must be.
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When I lie where shades of darkness Shall no more assail mine eyes.
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Once a man strays out of the common herd, he's more likely to meet wolves in the thickets than angels.
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Now that cleverness was the fashion most people were clever - even perfect fools and cleverness after all was often only a bore: all head and no body
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What lovely things Thy hand hath made.
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As soon as they're out of your sight, you are out of their mind.
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Hi! handsome hunting man Fire your little gun. Bang! Now the animal is dead and dumb and done. Nevermore to peep again, creep again, leap again, Eat or sleep or drink again. Oh, what fun!
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Do diddle di do, Poor Jim Jay Got stuck fast In Yesterday.
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A face peered. All the grey night In chaos of vacancy shone Nought but vast Sorrow was there The sweet cheat gone.
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It was a pity thoughts always ran the easiest way, like water in old ditches.
Walter de La Mare