Quotes from Alfred Lord Tennyson

So many worlds, so much to do, so little done, such things to be.

Who loves not Knowledge? Who shall rail Against her beauty? May she mix With men and prosper! Who shall fix Her pillars? Let her work prevail.

A still small voice spake unto me, 'Thou art so full of misery, Were it not better not to be?

Our little systems have their day; They have their day and cease to be… And thou, O Lord, art more than they.

So I find every pleasant spot In which we two were wont to meet, The field, the chamber, and the street, For all is dark where thou art not

This round of green, this orb of flame, Fantastic beauty; such as lurks In some wild poet, when he works Without a conscience or an aim.

Self-reverence, self-knowledge, self-control - these three alone lead to power

Half a league, half a league, Half a league onward, All in the valley of Death Rode the six hundred.

Sweet is true love that is given in vain, and sweet is death that takes away pain.

Authority forgets a dying king.

Twilight and evening bell, and after that the dark! And may there be no sadness of farewell when I embark.

He makes no friends who never made a foe.

No man ever got very high by pulling other people down. The intelligent merchant does not knock his competitors. The sensible worker does not work those who work with him. Don't knock your friends. Don't knock your enemies. Don't knock yourself.

Man comes and tills the field and lies beneath And after many a summer dieth the swan.

All experience is an arch wherethro' gleams that untraveled world whose margins fade forever and forever as we move.

All is well, tho' faith and form Be sunder'd in the night of fear.

Kind hearts are more than coronets, And simple faith than Norman blood.

Faith lives in honest doubt.

How many a father have I seen, A sober man, among his boys, Whose youth was full of foolish noise.

A pasty costly-made, Where quail and pigeon, lark and leveret lay, Like fossils of the rock, with golden yolks Imbedded and injellied.

Forgive! How many will say, forgive, and find a sort of absolution in the sound to hate a little longer!

Of old sat Freedom on the heights The thunders breaking at her feet: Above her shook the starry lights; She heard the torrents meet.

And statesmen at her council met Who knew the seasons, when to take Occasion by the hand, and make The bounds of freedom wider yet.

Old age hath yet his honour and his toil.