Alfred Lord Tennyson Men Quotations

The happiness of a man in this life does not consist in the absence but in the mastery of his passions.

We cannot be kind to each other here for even an hour. We whisper, and hint, and chuckle and grin at our brother's shame; however you take it we men are a little breed.

The same words conceal and declare the thoughts of men.

In the long years liker they must grow; The man be more of woman, she of man.

Current among men, Like coin, the tinsel clink of compliment.

That man's the best cosmopolite Who loves his native country best.

Old men must die, or the world would grow mouldy, would only breed the past again.

The woman's cause is man's. They rise or sink Together. / Dwarf'd or godlike, bound or free; miserable, / How shall men grow? - Let her be / All that not harms distinctive womanhood.

The woman's cause is man's: they rise or sink Together.

Oh good gray head which all men knew!

Man's word is God in man.

And out of darkness came the hands that reach through nature, moulding men.

Do we indeed desire the dead Should still be near us at our side ? Is there no baseness we would hide ? No inner vileness that we dread ? How many a father have I seen A sober man, among his boys Whose youth was full of foolish noise.

Men, my brothers, men the workers, ever reaping something new, That which they have done but earnest of the things which they shall do.

Either sex alone is half itself.

Nor at all can tell Whether I mean this day to end myself, Or lend an ear to Plato where he says, That men like soldiers may not quit the post Allotted by the Gods.

What are men better than sheep or goats That nourish a blind life within the brain, If knowing God, they lift not hands of prayer Both for themselves and those who call them friend?

The Lord let the house of a brute to the soul of a man, And the man said, "Am I your debtor?" And the Lord--"Not yet: but make it as clean as you can, And then I will let you a better.

Men, my brothers, men the workers, ever reaping something new.

That man's the true Conservative who lops the moldered branch away.

Any man that walks the mead In bud, or blade, or bloom, may find, According as his humors lead, A meaning suited to his mind.

How many a father have I seen, A sober man, among his boys, Whose youth was full of foolish noise.

Man is the hunter; women are the game; those sleek and shining creatures of the chase. We hunt them for the beauty of their skins; they love us for it, and we ride them down.

Men may come and men may go but I go on forever.

This world was once a fluid haze of light, Till toward the centre set the starry tides, And eddied into suns, that wheeling cast The planets: then the monster, then the man.

Thou madest man, he knows not why, he thinks he was not made to die.

In the Spring a livelier iris changes on the burnish'd dove; In the Spring a young man's fancy lightly turns to thoughts of love.

Till last by Philip's farm I flow To join the brimming river, For men may come and men may go, But I go on for ever.

Who loves not Knowledge? Who shall rail Against her beauty? May she mix With men and prosper! Who shall fix Her pillars? Let her work prevail.

I came in haste with cursing breath, And heart of hardest steel; But when I saw thee cold in death, I felt as man should feel. For when I look upon that face, That cold, unheeding, frigid brown, Where neither rage nor fear has place, By Heaven! I cannot hate thee now!

I hold it truth, with him who sings To one clear harp in divers tones, That men may rise on stepping-stones Of their dead selves to higher things.

Let me go: take back thy gift: Why should a man desire in any way To vary from the kindly race of men, Or pass beyond the goal of ordinance Where all should pause, as is most meet for all? ...Why wilt thou ever scare me with thy tears, And make me tremble lest a saying learnt, In days far-off, on that dark earth, be true? ‘The Gods themselves cannot recall their gifts.’ - Tithonus

Ah, when shall all men's good Be each man's rule, and universal peace Lie like a shaft of light across the land, And like a lane of beams athwart the sea, Thro' all the circle of the golden year?

The mighty hopes that make us men.

The sin That neither God nor man can well forgive.

I am any man's suitor, If any will be my tutor: Some say this life is pleasant, Some think it speedeth fast, In time there is no present, In eternity no future, In eternity no past. We laugh, we cry, we are born, we die. Who will riddle me the how and the why?

Yet is there one true line, the pearl of pearls: Man dreams of Fame while woman wakes to love.

Every moment dies a man, Every moment one is born.

And ah for a man to arise in me, That the man I am may cease to be!

All the windy ways of men Are but dust that rises up, And is lightly laid again.

France had shown a light to all men, preached a Gospel, all men's good; Celtic Demos rose a Demon, shriek'd and slaked the light with blood.

Fill the cup, and fill the can: Have a rouse before the morn: Every moment dies a man, Every moment one is born.

I grow in worth, and wit, and sense, Unboding critic-pen, Or that eternal want of pence, Which vexes public men.

Of happy men that have the power to die, And grassy barrows of the happier dead.

The dream Dreamed by a happy man, when the dark East, Unseen, is brightening to his bridal morn.

Nor is he the wisest man who never proved himself a fool.

And the days darken round me, and the years, Among new men, strange faces, other minds.

Woman is the lesser man.

To love one maiden only, cleave to her, And worship her by years of noble deeds, Until they won her; for indeed I knew Of no more subtle master under heaven Than is the maiden passion for a maid, Not only to keep down the base in man, But teach high thought, and aimable words And courtliness, and the desire of fame, And love of truth, and all that makes man.

Man is man, and master of his fate.

There is no land like England, Where'er the light of day be; There are no hearts like English hearts, Such hearts of oak as they be; There is no land like England, Where'er the light of day be: There are no men like Englishmen, So tall and bold as they be! And these will strike for England, And man and maid be free To foil and spoil the tyrant Beneath the greenwood tree.

Woman is the lesser man, and all thy passions, match'd with mine, Are as moonlight unto sunlight, and as water unto wine.

My doom is, I love thee still. Let no man dream but that I love thee still.

And men, whose reason long was blind, From cells of madness unconfined, Oft lose whole years of darker mind.

The greater man the greater courtesy.

Ring in the valiant man and free, The larger heart, the kindlier hand; Ring out the darkness of the land; Ring in the Christ that is to be.