Thomas Hood Quotes

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.

No warmth, no cheerfulness, no healthful ease, No comfortable feel in any member— No shade, no shine, no butterflies, no bees, No fruits, no flowers, no leaves, no birds,— November!

No sun—no moon! No morn—no noon No dawn—no dusk—no proper time of day.

But evil is wrought by want of thought, As well as want of heart!

Mad from life’s history, Glad to death’s mystery, Swift to be hurled— Anywhere, anywhere, Out of the world!

Take her up tenderly, Lift her with care; Fashioned so slenderly, Young, and so fair!

Oh! God! that bread should be so dear, And flesh and blood so cheap!

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

With fingers weary and worn, With eyelids heavy and red, A woman sat, in unwomanly rags Plying her needle and thread— Stitch! stitch! stitch! In poverty, hunger, and dirt. And still with a voice of dolorous pitch She sang the ‘Song of the Shirt ’.

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

Home-made dishes that drive one from home.

Holland…lies so low they’re only saved by being dammed.

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

The sedate, sober, silent, serious, sad-coloured sect.

She stood breast high amid the corn, Clasped by the golden light of morn, Like the sweetheart of the sun, Who many a glowing kiss had won.

I remember, I remember, The fir trees dark and high; I used to think their slender tops Were close against the sky: It was a childish ignorance, But now ’tis little joy To know I’m farther off from heav’n Than when I was a boy.

I remember, I remember, The house where I was born, The little window where the sun Came peeping in at morn; He never came a wink too soon, Nor brought too long a day, But now, I often wish the night Had borne my breath away!

The love that loves a scarlet coat Should be more uniform.

For here I leave my second leg, And the Forty-second Foot!

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!