Thomas Hood Quotes (77 Quotes)

Now when he went from Nelly Gray
His heart so heavy got,
And life was such a burden grown,
It made him take a knot.

Oh, if it be to choose and call thee mine, love, thou art every day my Valentine!

That picture raffles will conduce to nourish - Design, or cause coloring to flourish, Admits of logic chopping and wise - sawing, For surely lotteries encourage drawing

A moment of thinking is an hour of words.

One more unfortunate Weary of breath, Rashly importunate, Gone to her death.

Alas my everlasting peace Is broken into pieces.

For one of the pleasures of having a rout, Is the pleasure of having it over.

Sewing at once a double thread, A shroud as well as a shirt.

Where are the songs of Summer?

What is a modern poet's fate To write his thoughts upon a slate The critic spits on what is done, Gives it a wipe - and all is gone.

Boughs are daily rifled By the gusty thieves, And the book of Nature Getteth short of leaves.

I saw old Autumn in the misty morn stand shadowless like silence, listening to silence.

Where'er he wished to jog,
A happy wife, altho' she led
The life of any dog.

It was not in the winter Our loving lot was cast It was the time of roses, We plucked them as we passed

There is even a happiness - that makes the heart afraid.

Whoe'er has gone thro' London street, Has seen a butcher gazing at his meat, And how he keeps Gloating upon a sheep's Or bullock's personals, as if his own How he admires his halves And quarters--and his calves, As if in truth upon his own legs grown.

Young Ben he was a nice young man,
A carpenter by trade;
And he fell in love with Sally Brown,
That was a lady's maid.

No solemn sanctimonious face I pull, Nor think I 'm pious when I 'm only bilious Nor study in my sanctum supercilious, To frame a Sabbath Bill or forge a Bull.

There is a silence where hath been no sound, There is a silence where no sound may be, In the cold grave, under the deep, deep sea, Or in the wide desert where no life is found.

O God that bread should be so dear, And flesh and blood so cheap.

But evil is wrought by want of thought, As well as want of heart.

The Quaker loves an ample brim, A hat that bows to no salaam And dear the beaver is to him As if it never made a dam.

No blessed leisure for Love or Hope,
But only time for Grief!

Even God's providence Seeming estrang'd.

Some minds improve by travel, others, rather, resemble copper wire, or brass, which get the narrower by going farther.

When he is forsaken, Wither'd and shaken, What can an old man do but die.

The neighbours fetched a doctor in :
Said he, "'This wound I dread
Can hardly be sewed up -
his life Is hanging on a thread.