Quotes by Barry Cornwall

Quotes 1 till 15 of 20.

• Barry Cornwall

  

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  A single star is rising in the east, and from afar sheds a most tremulous lustre; silent Night doth wear it like a jewel on her brow.

• Barry Cornwall

  

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  All round the room my silent servants wait, My friends in every season, bright and dim.

• Barry Cornwall

  

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  Despair doth strike as deep a furrow in the brain as mischief or remorse.

• Barry Cornwall

  

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  Enter upon thy paths, O year! Thy paths, which all who breathe must tread, Which lead the Living to the Dead, I enter; for it is my doom To tread thy labyrinthine gloom; To note who round me watch and wait; To love a few; perhaps to hate; And do all duties of my fate.

• Barry Cornwall

  

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  Half the ills we heard within our hearts are ills because we hoard them.

• Barry Cornwall

  

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  Her voice is soft; not shrill and like the lark's, but tenderer, graver, almost hoarse at times! As though the earnestness of love prevailed and quelled all shriller music.

• Barry Cornwall

  

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  I 'm on the sea! I 'm on the sea!
  I am where I would ever be,
  With the blue above and the blue below,
  And silence wheresoe'er I go.
  Source: The Sea, reported in Bartletts Familiar Quotations, 10th ed.

• Barry Cornwall

  

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  I never was on the dull, tame shore,
  But I loved the great sea more and more.
  Source: The Sea, reported in Bartletts Familiar Quotations, 10th ed.

• Barry Cornwall

  

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  Love can take what shape he pleases; and when once begun his fiery inroad in the soul, how vain the after knowledge which his presence gives! We weep or rave; but still he lives, and lives master and lord, amidst pride and tears and pain.

• Barry Cornwall

  

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  Not the rich viol, trump, cymbal, nor horn, Guitar, nor cittern, nor the pining flute, Are half so sweet as tender human words.

• Barry Cornwall

  

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  O human beauty, what a dream art thou, that we should cast our life and hopes away on thee!

• Barry Cornwall

  

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  Oh, the summer night, Has a smile of light, And she sits on a sapphire throne.

• Barry Cornwall

  

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  Sing! Who sings To her who weareth a hundred rings? Ah, who is this lady fine? The Vine, boys, the Vine! The mother of the mighty Wine, A roamer is she O'er wall and tree And sometimes very good company.

• Barry Cornwall

  

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  So mightiest powers buy deepest calms are fed, And sleep, how oft, in things that gentlest be!

• Barry Cornwall

  

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  The progress from infancy to boyhood is imperceptible. In that long dawn of the mind we take but little heed. The years pass by us, one by one, little distinguishable from each other. But when the intellectual sun of our life is risen, we take due note of joy and sorrow.