Matthew Arnold

But often, in the world's most crowded streets,But often, in the din of strife,There rises an unspeakable desireAfter the knowledge of our buried life;A thirst to spend our fire and restless forceIn tracking out our true, original course.

Nor does the being hungry prove that we have bread.

Ah, love, let us be true To one another! for the world, which seems To lie before us like a land of dreams, So various, so beautiful, so new, Hath really neither joy, nor love, nor light, Nor certitude, nor peace, nor help for pain; And we are here as on a darkling plain Swept with confused alarms of struggle and flight, Where ignorant armies clash by night.

Come to me in my dreams, and thenBy day I shall be well again!For so the night will more than payThe hopeless longings of the day.

Conduct is three-fourths of our life and its largest concern.

Truth sits upon the lips of dying men.

Poetry a criticism of life under the conditions fixed for such a criticism by the laws of poetic truth and poetic beauty.

To have the sense of creative activity is the great happiness and the great proof of being alive.

The freethinking of one age is the common sense of the next.

Sad Patience, too near neighbour to despair.

Bald as the bare mountain tops are bald, with a baldness full of grandeur.

Poetry is simply the most beautiful, impressive, and widely effective mode of saying things.

Who hesitate and falter life away and lose tomorrow the ground won today.

This strange disease of modern life with its sick hurry its divided aims.

The pursuit of the perfect then is the pursuit of sweetness and light.

Resolve to be thyself and know that he who finds himself loses his misery.

Resolve to be thyself ... he who finds himself loses his misery!

Bald as the bare mountain tops are bald with a baldness full of grandeur.