Zitate von Thomas Gray

Informationen über Thomas Gray

Dichter, Schöpfer der "Friedhofslyrik" (England, 1716 - 1771).

Thomas Gray · Geburtsdatum · Sterbedatum

Thomas Gray wäre heute 307 Jahre, 8 Monate, 25 Tage oder 112.398 Tage alt.

Geboren am 26.12.1716 in London
Gestorben am 30.07.1771 in Cambridge
Sternzeichen: ♑ Steinbock

• Beredsamkeit: Gedanken, die atmen, und Worte, die brennen.

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• Wo Nichtwissen Seligkeit, ist es Torheit, klug zu sein.

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• . . . Far from the sun and summer-gale, In thy green lap was Nature's darling laid.

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• Alas, regardless of their doom, The little victims play! No sense have they of ills to come, Nor care beyond to-day.

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• Any fool may write a most valuable book by chance, if he will only tell us what he heard and saw with veracity.

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• Beneath those rugged elms, that yew-tree's shade, Where heaves the turf in many a mouldering heap, Each in his narrow cell for ever laid, The rude forefathers of the hamlet sleep. The breezy call of incense-breathing Morn, The swallow twitt'ring from the straw-builtshed, The cock's shrill clarion, or the echoing horn, No more shall rouse them from their lowly bed.

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• Beyond the limits of a vulgar fate, Beneath the good how far-but far above the great.

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• Can storied urn or animated bust Back to its mansion call the fleeting breath? Can honour's voice provoke the silent dust, Or flatt'ry soothe the dull cold ear of death?

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• Fair laughs the morn, and soft the zephyr blows, While proudly riding o'er the azure realm In gallant trim the gilded vessel goes; Youth on the prow, and Pleasure at the helm; Regardless of the sweeping whirlwind's sway, That, hushed in grim repose, expects his evening prey.

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• Far from the madding crowd's ignoble strife, Their sober wishes never learned to stray; Along the cool sequestered vale of life They kept the noiseless tenor of their way.

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• For who to dumb Forgetfulness a prey, This pleasing anxious being e'er resigned, Left the warm precincts of the cheerful day, Nor cast one longing ling'ring look behind?

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• Full many a gem of purest ray serene, The dark unfathomed caves of ocean bear: Full many a flower is born to blush unseen, And waste its sweetness on the desert air. Some village-Hampden, that with dauntless breast The little tyrant of his fields withstood; Some mute inglorious Milton here may rest, Some Cromwell guiltless of his country's blood.

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• Here rests his head upon the lap of Earth A youth to fortune and to fame unknown. Fair Science frowned not on his humble birth, And Melancholy marked him for her own.

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• I shall be but a shrimp of an author.

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• It has been usual to catch a mouse or two (for form's sake) in public once a year.

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• Let not ambition mock their useful toil, Their homely joys, and destiny obscure; Nor grandeur hear with a disdainful smile, The short and simple annals of the poor. The boast of heraldry, the pomp of pow'r, And all that beauty, all that wealth e'er gave, Awaits alike th' inevitable hour; The paths of glory lead but to the grave.

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• Loose his beard, and hoary hair Streamed, like a meteor, to the troubled air.

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• Mindful of th' unhonoured dead.

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• Nor second he, that rode sublime Upon the seraph-wings of ecstasy, The secrets of th' abyss to spy. He passed the flaming bounds of place and time: The living throne, the sapphire-blaze, Where angels tremble, while they gaze, He saw; but blasted with excess of light, Closed his eyes in endless night.

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• Not all that tempts your wand'ring eyes And heedless hearts, is lawful prize; Nor all, that glitters, gold.
  • Paul Catty spricht . . .

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