William Morris Quotes

Folk say, a wizard to a northern king At Christmas-tide such wondrous things did show, That through one window men beheld the spring, And through another saw the summer glow, And through a third the fruited vines a-row, While still, unheard, but in its wonted way, Piped the drear wind of that December day. So with this Earthly Paradise it is, If ye will read aright, and pardon me, Who strive to build a shadowy isle of bliss Midmost the beating of the steely sea, Where tossed about all hearts of men must be; Whose ravening monsters mighty men shall slay, Not the poor singer of an empty day.

Lo, the lovers unloved that draw nigh for your blessing! For your tale makes the dreaming whereby yet they live The dreams of the day with their hopes of redressing, The dreams of the night with the kisses they give, The dreams of the dawn wherein death and hope strive.

...what I mean by Socialism is a condition of society in which there should be neither rich nor poor, neither master nor master's man, neither idle nor overworked, neither brain­slack brain workers, nor heart­sick hand workers, in a word, in which all men would be living in equality of condition, and would manage their affairs unwastefully, and with the full consciousness that harm to one would mean harm to all—the realisation at last of the meaning of the word commonwealth.

My work is, ... to bring before people's eyes the image of the thing my heart is filled with.

To give people pleasure in the things they must perforce use, that is one great office of decoration; to give people pleasure in the things they must perforce make, that is the other use of it. Does not our subject look important enough now? I say that without these arts, our rest would be vacant and uninteresting, our labour mere endurance, mere wearing away of body and mind.

For these lands, and, I say, especially the northern parts of America, suffered so terribly from the full force of the last days of civilisation, and became such horrible places to live in, that they are now very backward in all that makes life pleasant. Indeed, one may say that for nearly a hundred years the people of the northern parts of America have been engaged in gradually making a dwelling-place out of a stinking dust-heap; and there is still a great deal to do, especially as the country is so big.

Tush, man! praise the day when the sun has set.

With the arrogance of youth, I determined to do no less than to transform the world with Beauty. If I have succeeded in some small way, if only in one small corner of the world, amongst the men and women I love, then I shall count myself blessed, and blessed, and blessed, and the work goes on.

When we can get beyond that smoky world, there, out in the country we may still see the works of our fathers yet alive amidst the very nature they were wrought into, and of which they are so completely a part: for there indeed if anywhere, in the English country, in the days when people cared about such things, was there a full sympathy between the works of man, and the land they were made for: — the land is a little land; too much shut up within the narrow seas, as it seems, to have much space for swelling into hugeness: there are no great wastes overwhelming in their dreariness, no great solitudes of forests, no terrible untrodden mountain-walls: all is measured, mingled, varied, gliding easily one thing into another: little rivers, little plains, swelling, speedily- changing uplands, all beset with handsome orderly trees; little hills, little mountains, netted over with the walls of sheep- walks: all is little; yet not foolish and blank, but serious rather, and abundant of meaning for such as choose to seek it: it is neither prison nor palace, but a decent home.

Let us speak, love, together some words of our story, That our lips as they part may remember the glory! O soft day, O calm day, made clear for our sake!

Sta a noi fare in modo di produrre realmente qualcosa, piuttosto che niente, o almeno niente che noi vogliamo o che ci sia consentito usare. Se guarderemo a questo e attueremo le nostre volontà, saremo, in ciò, meglio delle macchine. La speranza nel piacere che si ricava dal lavoro. [...] Eppure penso che ogni essere vivente ricavi un piacere nell'esercizio delle proprie energie, e che perfino le bestie godano nel sentirsi agili, svelte e forti. Ma un uomo che lavora, e che fabbrica qualcosa che egli sente esisterà proprio perché vi sta lavorando e la vuole, esercita le energie della mente e dell'anima, oltre a quelle del corpo. Nel suo lavoro lo aiutano la memoria e l'immaginazione, le sue mani son guidate non solo dai suoi stessi pensieri, ma anche da quelli degli uomini delle epoche passate, ed egli crea in quanto è parte del genere umano. Se lavoriamo in tal modo saremo uomini, e i nostri giorni saranno lieti e ricchi di eventi. Un lavoro che è degno di essere svolto porta quindi con sé la speranza del piacere del riposo, la speranza del piacere che ricaveremo nell'utilizzare ciò che produciamo, la speranza del piacere derivante dall'applicazione quotidiana della nostra capacità creativa. Ogni altro lavoro è privo di valore; è un lavoro da schiavi, nient'altro che fatica per vivere, e vivere per faticare.

"Wilt thou not save me? once in every year This rightful form of mine that thou dost see By favour of the Goddess have I here From sunrise unto sunset given me, That some brave man may end my misery. And thou — art thou not brave? can thy heart fail, Whose eyes e'en now are weeping at my tale?

A world made to be lost, — A bitter life 'twixt pain and nothing tost.

Forsooth, brothers, fellowship is heaven, and lack of fellowship is hell: fellowship is life, and lack of fellowship is death: and the deeds that ye do upon the earth, it is for fellowship's sake that ye do them, and the life that is in it, that shall live on and on for ever, and each one of you part of it, while many a man's life upon the earth from the earth shall wane. Therefore, I bid you not dwell in hell but in heaven, or while ye must, upon earth, which is a part of heaven, and forsooth no foul part.

A fearful thing stood at the cloister's end And eyed him for a while, then 'gan to wend Adown the cloisters, and began again That rattling, and the moan like fiends in pain. And as it came on towards him, with its teeth The body of a slain goat did it tear, The blood whereof in its hot jaws did seethe, And on its tongue he saw the smoking hair; Then his heart sank, and standing trembling there, Throughout his mind wild thoughts and fearful ran: "Some fiend she was," he said, "the bane of man." Yet he abode her still, although his blood Curdled within him: the thing dropped the goat, And creeping on, came close to where he stood, And raised its head to him and wrinkled throat. Then he cried out and wildly at her smote, Shutting his eyes, and turned and from the place Ran swiftly, with a white and ghastly face.