Francis Thompson Quotes

All things by immortal power. Near of far, to each other linked are, that thou canst not stir a flower without troubling of a star.

Agnosticism is the everlasting perhaps.

Look for me in the nurseries of Heaven.

Nothing begins, and nothing ends, That is not paid with moan; For we are born in others pain And perish in our own.

The devil doesn't know how to sing, only how to howl.

The desolation and terror of, for the first time, realizing that the mother can lose you, or you her, and your own abysmal loneliness and helplessness without her.

Thou cannot stir a flower Without troubling a star.

A dog, I will maintain, is a very tolerable judge of beauty, as appears from the fact that any liberally educated dog does, in a general way, prefer a woman to a man.

Oh invisible, we view thee, O world intangible, we touch thee, o world unknowable, we know thee.

There is no expeditious road To pack and label men for God, And save them by the barrel-load. Some may perchance, with strange surprise, Have blundered into Paradise.

Little Jesus, was Thou shy Once, and just so small as I? And what did it feel like to be Out of Heaven, and just like me?

The fairest things have fleetest end, Their scent survives their close: But the rose's scent is bitterness To him that loved the rose.

Spring is come home with her world-wandering feet, And all things are made young with your desires.

Deep in my heart subsides the infrequent word, And there dies slowly throbbing like a wounded bird.

The innocent moon, that nothing does but shine,Moves all the labouring surges of the world.

In all change, well looked into, the germinal good out-veils the apparent ill.

Baby smiled, mother wailed, Earthward while the sweetling sailed; Mother smiled, baby wailed, When to earth came Viola.

But lilies, stolen from grassy mold, No more curled state unfold, Translated to a vase of gold; In burning throne though they keep still Serenities unthawed and chill.

Nothing begins and nothing ends That is not paid with moan For we are born in others' pain And perish in our own.

What you theoretically know vividly realize.

In all change well looked into the germinal good out-vails the apparent ill.

Summer set lip to earth's bosom bare, and left the flushed print in a poppy there.

My freshness is spending its wavering shower in the dust.

The fairest things have fleetest end, Their scent survives their close:But the rose's scent is bitternessTo her who loved the rose.