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It was a pity thoughts always ran the easiest way, like water in old ditches.

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
Always
Like
Ditches
Easiest
Ran
Pity
Thoughts
Water
Way

More quotes by Walter de La Mare

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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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What a haunting, inescapable riddle life was.
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So, blind to Someone I must be.
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Slowly, silently, now the moon Walks the night in her silver shoon.
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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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Look thy last on all things lovely, Every hour
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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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As long as I live I shall always be My Self - and no other, Just me.
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His are the quiet steeps of dreamland, The waters of no-more-pain His ram's bell rings 'neath an arch of stars, Rest, rest, and rest again.
Walter de La Mare
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The sandy cat by the Farmer's chair Mews at his knee for dainty fare Old Rover in his moss-greened house Mumbles a bone, and barks at a mouse. In the dewy fields the cattle lie Chewing the cud 'neath a fading sky Dobbin at manger pulls his hay: Gone is another summer's day.
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A lost but happy dream may shed its light upon our waking hours, and the whole day may be infected with the gloom of a dreary or sorrowful one yet of neither may we be able to recover a trace.
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And some win peace who spend The skill of words to sweeten despair Of finding consolation where Life has but one dark end.
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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.
Walter de La Mare
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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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Very old are the woods And the buds that break Out of the brier's boughs, When March winds wake, So old with their beauty are-- Oh, no man knows Through what wild centuries Roves back the rose.
Walter de La Mare
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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.
Walter de La Mare
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All day long the door of the sub-conscious remains just ajar we slip through to the other side, and return again, as easily and secretly as a cat.
Walter de La Mare
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An hour's terror is better than a lifetime of timidity.
Walter de La Mare
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Dobbin at manger pulls his hay: Gone is another summer's day.
Walter de La Mare
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What is the world, O soldiers? It is I, I, this incessant snow, This northern sky.
Walter de La Mare