Thomas Hood Quotes (77 Quotes)

Frost is the greatest artist in our clime - he paints in nature and describes in rime.

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.

My books kept me from the ring, the dog-pit, the tavern, and the saloon.

Oh, Men, with Mothers and Wives!

I don't set up for being a cosmopolite, which to any mind signifies being polite to every country except your own

'Extremes meet', as the whiting said with its tail in its mouth.

Heaven gives our days of failing strength Indemnifying fleetness And those of youth a seeming length Proportioned to their sweetness.

Our very hopes belied our fears, Our fears our hopes belied We thought her dying when she slept, And sleeping when she died.

There are three things which the public will always clamor for, sooner or later: namely, novelty, novelty, novelty.

And ye, who have met with Adversity's blast,And been bow'd to the earth by its furyTo whom the Twelve Months, that have recently pass'dWere 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.

To attempt to advise conceited people is like whistling against the wind.

A man that 's fond precociously of stirring Must be a spoon.

The best of friends fall out, and so his teeth had done some years ago.

Where are the blooms of Summer?

No sun, no moon, no morn, no noon, No dawn, no dusk, no proper time of day, ...... No road, no street, no t' other side the way, ...... No shade, no shine, no butterflies, no bees, No fruits, no flowers, no leaves, no buds.

Spurn'd by the young, but hugg'd by the old To the very verge of the churchyard mould.

Lives of great men oft remind us as we o'er their pages turn, That we too may leave behind us - Letters that we ought to burn.

She stood breast-high amid the corn Clasp'd by the golden light of morn, Like the sweetheart of the sun, Who many a glowing kiss had won.

Another tumble That 's his precious nose.

Gold Gold Gold Gold Bright and yellow, hard and cold.

No warmth, no cheerfulness, no healthful ease, No comfortable feel in any member - No shade, no shine, no butterflies, no bees, No fruits, no flowers, no leaves, no birds - November.

For my part, getting up seems not so easy By half as lying.

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.

Thus she stood amid the stooks, Praising God with sweetest looks.

I remember, I remember, The house where I was born, The little window where the sun Came peeping in at morn.

If you were queen of bloaters And I were king of soles, The sea we'd wag our fins in. Nor heed the crooked pins in The water, dropped by boaters To catch our heedless joles.

O men with sisters dear, O men with mothers and wives, It is not linen you 're wearing out, But human creatures' lives.

Oh would I were dead now, Or up in my bed now, To cover my head now, And have a good cry.

It's very convenient and saves me from having to plan and cook meals.

I remember, I remember The fir-trees dark and high I used to think their slender tops Were close against the sky It was a childish ignorance, But now 't is little joy To know I'm farther off from heaven Than when I was a boy.

His death which happened in his berth, At forty-odd befell They went and told the sexton, and The sexton toll'd the bell.

With fingers weary and worn, With eyelids heavy and red, A woman sat in unwomanly rags Plying her needle and thread, Stitch stitch stitch.

Take her up tenderly, Lift her with care Fashioned so slenderly, Young, and so fair.

A moment's thinking is an hour in words.

My tears must stop, for every drop Hinders needle and thread.

A hollow voice is all I have But this I tell you plain, Marry come up - you marry, Ma'am, And I'll come up again.

Alas for the rarity Of Christian charity Under the sun.

How widely its agencies vary, To save, to ruin, to curse, to bless, As even its minted coins express, Now stamp'd with the image of Good Queen Bess, And now of a Bloody Mary.

There 's not a string attuned to mirth But has its chord in melancholy.

But why do I talk of Death?

Theres Bardus, a six-foot column of fop, A lighthouse without any light atop.

Ben Battle was a soldier bold, And used to war's alarms But a cannon-ball took off his legs, So he laid down his arms.

I can't do as much as I used to, but I can still grow a little corn, tomatoes and some cucumbers in my organic garden out back.

That a man be willing, when others are so too, as far forth as for peace and defence of himself he shall think it necessary, to lay down this right to all things; and be contented with so much liberty against other men, as he would allow other men against himself.

Straight down the crooked lane, And all round the square.

O bed O bed delicious bed That heaven upon earth to the weary head.

When Eve upon the first of Men The apple pressd with specious cant, Oh what a thousand pities then That Adam was not Adamant.

He lies like a hedgehog rolled up the wrong way, Tormenting himself with his prickles.

Seem'd washing his hands with invisible soap In imperceptible water.

A certain portion of the human race has certainly a taste for being diddled.