Rupert Brooke Quotes

If I should die, think only this of me: that there's some corner of a foreign field that is for ever England.

There are only three things in the world, one is to read poetry, another is to write poetry, and the best of all is to live poetry.

A kiss makes the heart young again and wipes out the years.

Breathless, we flung us on a windy hill, Laughed in the sun, and kissed the lovely grass.

Incredibly, inordinately, devastatingly, immortally, calamitously, hearteningly, adorably beautiful.

I have need to busy my heart with quietude.

I know what things are good: friendship and work and conversation. These I shall have.

Youth is stranger than fiction.

If I should die, think only this of me: That there's some corner of a foreign field That is forever England. There shall be In that rich earth a richer dust concealed; A dust whom England bore, shaped, made aware, Gave, once, her flowers to love, her ways to roam, A body of England's, breathing English air, Washed by the rivers, blest by suns of home.

I have a thousand images of you in an hour; all different and all coming back to the same. I think of you once against a sky line: and on the hill that Sunday morning. The light and the shadow and quietness and the rain and the wood. And you. Your arms and lips and hair and shoulders and voice - you.

Store up reservoirs of calm and content and draw on them at later moments when the source isn't there, but the need is very great.

The worst of slaves is he whom passion rules.

But there's wisdom in women, of more than they have known, And thoughts go blowing through them, are wiser than their own.

Oh! death will find me long before I tire of watching you.

Hearts at peace, under an English heaven.

One may not doubt that, somehow Good Shall come of Water and of Mud; And sure, the reverent eye must see A purpose in Liquidity.

And in that Heaven of all their wish, there shall be no more land, say fish

All the little emptiness of love!

I shall desire and I shall find The best of my desires; The autumn road, the mellow wind That soothes the darkening shires. And laughter, and inn-fires.

I thought when love for you died, I should die. It's dead. Alone, most strangely, I live on.

War knows no power. Safe shall be my going, Secretly armed against all death's endeavour; Safe though all safety's lost; safe where men fall; And if these poor limbs die, safest of all.

Cities, like cats, will reveal themselves at night.

But the best I've known Stays here, and changes, breaks, grows old, is blown About the winds of the world, and fades from brains Of living men, and dies.

They say that the Dead die not, but remain Near to the rich heirs of their grief and mirth. I think they ride the calm mid-heaven, as these, In wise majestic melancholy train, And watch the moon, and the still-raging seas, And men, coming and going on the earth.

There's little comfort in the wise