Thomas Hood Quotes

Another tumble! That's his precious nose!

When he is forsaken, Withered and shaken,
What can an old man do but die?

Oh would I were dead now,
Or up in my bed now,
To cover my head now, And have a good cry!

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.

There is a silence where hath been no sound,
There is a silence where no sound may be,—
In the cold grave, under the deep, deep sea,
Or in the wide desert where no life is found.

No sun—no moon—no morn—no noon,
No dawn—no dusk—no proper time of day,
No warmth—no cheerfulness—no healthful ease,
No road, no street, no t' other side the way,
No comfortable feel in any member—
No shade, no shine, no butterflies, no bees,
No fruits, no flowers, no leaves, no birds,
November!

Gold! Gold! Gold! Gold!
Bright and yellow, hard and cold.

Even God's providence Seeming estranged.

'Tis strange how like a very dunce,
Man, with his bumps upon his sconce,
Has lived so long, and yet no knowledge he
Has had, till lately, of Phrenology—
A science that by simple dint of
Head-combing he should find a hint of,
When scratching o'er those little pole-hills
The faculties throw up like mole hills.

Home-made dishes that drive one from home.

I saw old Autumn in the misty morn
Stand shadowless like Silence, listening
To silence.

And there is ev'n a happiness
That makes the heart afraid!

There's not a string attuned to mirth
But has its chord in melancholy.

For my part, getting up seems not so easy
By half as lying.

Pity it is to slay the meanest thing.