Thomas Hood Quotes

When Eve upon the first of Men
The apple press'd with specious cant,
Oh! what a thousand pities then
That Adam was not adamant!

The lily is all in white, like a saint, And so is no mate for me.

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

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.

No blessed leisure for love or hope, But only time for grief.

Some sigh for this and that; My wishes don't go far; The world may wag at will, So I have my cigar.

The Autumn is old; The sere leaves are flying; He hath gather'd up gold, And now he is dying;- Old age, begin sighing!

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

As for my feet, the little feet
You used to call so pretty,
There's one, I know, in Bedford Row,
The t'other's in the City.

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

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.

Apothegms form a short cut to much knowledge.

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

For man may pious texts repeat, And yet religion have no inward seat

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.

Dear bells! how sweet the sound of village bells When on the undulating air they swim!

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

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.

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

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

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

A moment's thinking is an hour in words.

There is not a string attuned to mirth but has its chord of melancholy.

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

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

Peace and rest at length have come
All the day's long toil is past,
And each heart is whispering, 'Home,
Home at last.

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.

Comfort and indolence are cronies.

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

Experience enables me to depose to the comfort and blessing that literature can prove in seasons of sickness and sorrow.

Father of rosy day, No more thy clouds of incense rise; But waking flow'rs, At morning hours, Give out their sweets to meet thee in the skies.

Fuss is the froth of business.

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

There's a double beauty whenever a swan
Swims on a lake with her double thereon.

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

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

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.

How bravely Autumn paints upon the sky The gorgeous fame of Summer which is fled!

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

How bless'd the heart that has a friend. A sympathizing ear to lend.

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.

Whilst breezy waves toss up their silvery spray.

The year's in wane; There is nothing adorning; The night has no eve, And the day has no morning; Cold winter gives warning!

When he is forsaken, Withered and shaken, What can an old man do but die?

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

Pity it is to slay the meanest thing.

Bells are musics laughter.

Coquetry is the champagne of love.

The cowslip is a country wench.

Jasmine is sweet, and has many loves.

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

Such a blush In the midst of brown was born, Like red poppies grown with corn.

I resolved that, like the sun, as long as my day lasted, I would look on the bright side of everything.

Alas for the rarity Of Christian charity Under the sun!

Half of the failures in life come from pulling one's horse when he is leaping.

We thought her dying whilst she slept,
And sleeping when she died.

I love thee - I love thee,
'Tis all that I can say,
It is my vision in the night,
My dreaming in the day.

A name, it has more than nominal worth, And belongs to good or bad luck at birth

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

What is mind? No matter. What is matter? Never mind. What is the soul? It is immaterial.

The biggest bore of all is he who is overflowing with congratulations

Sweet are the little brooks that run O'er pebbles glancing in the sun, Singing in soothing tones.

When was ever honey made with one bee in a hive?

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

My brain is dull, my sight is foul,
I cannot write a verse, or read
Then, Pallas, take away thine Owl,
And let us have a lark instead.

So mayst thou live, dear! many years,
In all the bliss that life endears

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

Gold! gold! gold! gold! Bright and yellow, hard and cold!

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