121 ordspråk av Matthew Arnold
Matthew Arnold
Resolve to find thyself; and to know that he who finds himself, loses his misery
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Sad Patience, too near neighbour to despair.
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Shy traffickers, the dark Iberians come: / And on the beach undid his corded bales.
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Spare me the whispering, crowded room, the friends who come and gape and go, the ceremonious air of gloom - all, which makes death a hideous show
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Spare me the whispering, crowded room, the friends who come and gape and go, the ceremonious air of gloom - all, which makes death a hideous show
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Still bent to make some port he knows not where, still standing for some false impossible shore.
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Still nursing the unconquerable hope, / Still clutching the inviolable shade.
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Strew on her roses, roses, / And never a spray of yew. / In quiet she reposes: / Ah! would that I did too!
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That sweet city with her dreaming spires.
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The beginning is always today.
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The beginning is always today.
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The bloom is gone, and with the bloom go I.
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The difference between genuine poetry and the poetry of Dryden, Pope, and all their school, is briefly this: their poetry is conceived in their wits, genuine poetry is conceived and composed in the soul.
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The eternal not ourselves that makes for righteousness.
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The freethinking of one age is the common sense of the next.
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