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A man who keeps a diary pays, Due toll to many tedious days But life becomes eventfulthen, His busy hand forgets the pen. Most books, indeed, are records less Of fulness than of emptiness.
William Allingham
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William Allingham
Age: 65 †
Born: 1824
Born: March 19
Died: 1889
Died: November 18
Poet
Writer
Forget
Indeed
Forgets
Less
Busy
Diaries
Hands
Pay
Tedious
Book
Records
Pays
Eventful
Many
Becomes
Pens
Fulness
Men
Days
Emptiness
Toll
Life
Hand
Dues
Tolls
Books
Keeps
Diary
More quotes by William Allingham
Pluck not the wayside flower It is the traveler's dower.
William Allingham
Winds and waters keepA hush more dead than any sleep.
William Allingham
Soul's Castle fell at one blast of temptation, But many a worm had pierced the foundation.
William Allingham
Fairies, arouse! Mix with your song Harplet and pipe, Thrilling and clear, Swarm on the boughs! Chant in a throng! Morning is ripe, Waiting to hear.
William Allingham
I have been an Official all my life, without the least turn for it. I never could attain a true official manner, which is highly artificial and handles trifles with ludicrously disproportionate gravity.
William Allingham
History of Ireland--lawlessness and turbulency, robbery and oppression, hatred and revenge, blind selfishness everywhere--no principle, no heroism. What can be done with it?
William Allingham
If any foes of mine are there, I pardon every one: I hope that man and womankind will do the same by me.
William Allingham
Now Autumn's fire burns slowly along the woods and day by day the dead leaves fall and melt.
William Allingham
Politeness costs nothing. Nothing, that is, to him that shows it but if often costs the world very dear.
William Allingham
Before a day was over, Home comes the rover, For mother's kiss - sweeter this Than any other thing!
William Allingham
Oh, bring again my heart's content, Thou Spirit of the Summer-time!
William Allingham
Round the world and home again, that's the sailor's way!
William Allingham
Not like Homer would I write, Not like Dante if I might, Not like Shakespeare at his best, Not like Goethe or the rest, Like myself, however small, Like myself, or not at all.
William Allingham
Tantarrara! the joyous Book of Spring Lies open, writ in blossoms.
William Allingham
Four ducks on a pond, / A grass-bank beyond, / A blue sky of spring, / White clouds on the wing: / What a little thing / To remember for years - / To remember with tears!.
William Allingham
Scarcely a tear to shed Hardly a word to say The end of a Summer's day Sweet Love is dead.
William Allingham
One who can see without seeming to see-- That's an observer as good as three.
William Allingham
The mother's kiss is the sweetest thing ever.
William Allingham
Autumn's the mellow time.
William Allingham
Yet dearer still that Irish hill than all the world beside It's home, sweet home, where'er I roam, through lands and waterswide.
William Allingham