266 ordspråk av Alfred, Lord Tennyson
Alfred, Lord Tennyson
Men may rise on stepping-stones of their dead selves to higher things.
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Music that gentler on the spirit lies- Than tired eyelids upon tired eyes
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My purpose holds/ To sail beyond the sunset, and the baths/ Of all the western stars, until I die./ It may be that the gulfs will wash us down;/ It may be we shall touch the Happy Isles/ And see the great Achilles.
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My regret/ Becomes an April violet,/ And buds and blossoms like the rest.
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My strength is as the strength of ten, Because my heart is pure
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Nature, red in tooth and claw.
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News from the humming city comes to it/ In sound of funeral or of marriage bells.
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No life that breathes with human breath has ever truly longed for death
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No little lily-handed Baronet he,/ A great broad-shouldered genial Englishman,/ A lord of fat prize-oxen and of sheep,/ A raiser of huge melons and of pine,/ A patron of some thirty charities.
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No man ever got very high by pulling other people down. The intelligent merchant does not knock his competitors. The sensible worker does not work those who work with him. Don't knock your friends. Don't knock your enemies. Don't knock yourself.
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No rock so hard but that a little wave may beat admission in a thousand years.
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Not once or twice in our rough island-story,/ The path of duty was the way to glory.
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Not the schoolboy heat,/ The blind hysterics of the Celt.
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Not with blinded eyesight poring over miserable books.
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Nourishing a youth sublime/ With the fairy tales of science, and the long result of Time.
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