Thomas Gray Quotes

Youth smiles without any reason. It is one of its chiefest charms.

Poetry is thoughts that breathe, and words that burn.

Where ignorance is bliss, 'Tis folly to be wise.

The paths of glory lead but to the grave.

From toil he wins his spirits light, From busy day the peaceful night; Rich, from the very want of wealth, In heaven's best treasures, peace and health.

They hear a voice in every wind, And snatch a fearful joy.

Not all that tempts your wandering eyes And heedless hearts, is lawful prize; Nor all that glisters gold.

Hell is full of good intentions.

Commerce changes entirely the fate and genius of nations, by communicating arts and opinions, circulating money, and introducing the materials of luxury; she first opens and polishes the mind, then corrupts and enervates both that and the body.

If the best man's faults were written on his forehead, he would draw his hat over his eyes.

Visions of glory, spare my aching sight! Ye unborn ages, crowd not on my soul!

Men will believe anything at all provided they are under no obligation to believe it.

What female heart can gold despise? What cat 's averse to fish?

Thought would destroy their paradise.

Full many a gem of purest ray serene The dark unfathom'd caves of ocean bear: Full many a flower is born to blush unseen, And waste its sweetness on the desert air.

To each his suff'rings; all are men, Condemn'd alike to groan,- The tender for another's pain, Th' unfeeling for his own. Yet ah! why should they know their fate, Since sorrow never comes too late, And happiness too swiftly flies? Thought would destroy their paradise. No more; where ignorance is bliss, 'T is folly to be wise.

The curfew tolls the knell of parting day, The lowing herd winds slowly o'er the lea, The ploughman homeward plods his weary way, And leaves the world to darkness and to me.

Nor grandeur hear with a disdainful smile The short and simple annals of the poor.

One principal characteristic of vice in the present age is the contempt of fame.

How low, how little are the proud, How indigent the great!

In the evening, I walked alone down to the Lake by the side of Crow Park after sunset and saw the solemn coloring of night draw on, the last gleam of sunshine fading away on the hilltops, the seep serene of the asters, and the long shadows of the mountains thrown across them, till they nearly touched the hithermost shore. At distance hear the murmur of many waterfalls not audible in the day-time. Wished for the moon, but she was dark to me and silent, hid in her vacant interlunar cave.

Each in his narrow cell forever laid, The rude forefathers of the hamlet sleep.

Alas, regardless of their doom, the little victims play! No sense have they of ills to come nor care beyond today.

A fav'rite has no friend!

As to posterity, I may ask what has it ever done to oblige me?