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So, blind to Someone I must be.
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
Blind
Someone
Must
More quotes by Walter de La Mare
Slowly, silently, now the moon Walks the night in her silver shoon.
Walter de La Mare
Once a man strays out of the common herd, he's more likely to meet wolves in the thickets than angels.
Walter de La Mare
And some win peace who spend The skill of words to sweeten despair Of finding consolation where Life has but one dark end.
Walter de La Mare
But beauty vanishes beauty passes However rare rare it be And when I crumble, who will remember This lady of the West Country?
Walter de La Mare
When I lie where shades of darkness Shall no more assail mine eyes.
Walter de La Mare
Without imagination of the one kind or of the other, mortal existence is indeed a dreary and prosaic business... Illumined by the imagination, our life, whatever its defeats - is a never-ending unforeseen strangeness and adventure and mystery.
Walter de La Mare
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.
Walter de La Mare
God has mercifully ordered that the human brain works slowly first the blow, hours afterwards the bruise.
Walter de La Mare
Oh, pity the poor glutton Whose troubles all begin In struggling on and on to turn What's out into what's in.
Walter de La Mare
As long as I live I shall always be My Self - and no other, Just me.
Walter de La Mare
Too late for fruit, too soon for flowers.
Walter de La Mare
Do diddle di do, Poor Jim Jay Got stuck fast In Yesterday.
Walter de La Mare
It was a pity thoughts always ran the easiest way, like water in old ditches.
Walter de La Mare
Three jolly huntsmen, In coats of red, Rode their horses Up to bed.
Walter de La Mare
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
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
Look thy last on all things lovely, Every hour
Walter de La Mare
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
All but blind In his chambered hole Gropes for worms The four-clawed Mole.
Walter de La Mare
Poor tired Tim! It's sad for him He lags the long bright morning through, Ever so tired of nothing to do.
Walter de La Mare