Quotes about mallet, page 2
How many pessimists end up by desiring the things they fear, in order to prove that they are right.
quote by Robert Mallet
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Uncertainty! fell demon of our fears! The human soul that can support despair, supports not thee.
quote by David Mallet
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A sovereign's great example forms a people; the public breast is noble or vile as he inspires it.
quote by David Mallet
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I courted fame but as a spur to brave and honest deeds; who despises fame will soon renounce the virtues that deserve it.
quote by David Mallet
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Affliction is the wholesome soil of virtue, where patience, honor, sweet humility, and calm fortitude, take root and strongly flourish.
quote by David Mallet
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In The Arc Of Your Mallet
Don't go anywhere without me.
Let nothing happen in the sky apart from me,
or on the ground, in this world or that world,
without my being in its happening.
Vision, see nothing I don't see.
Language, say nothing.
The way the night knows itself with the moon,
be that with me. Be the rose
nearest to the thorn that I am.
I want to feel myself in you when you taste food,
in the arc of your mallet when you work,
when you visit friends, when you go
up on the roof by yourself at night.
There's nothing worse than to walk out along the street
without you. I don't know where I'm going.
You're the road, and the knower of roads,
more than maps, more than love
An Enigma
A needle, small as small can be,
In bulk and use surpasses me,
Nor is my purchase dear;
For little, and almost for nought
As many of my kind are bought
As days are in the year.
Yet though but little use we boast,
And are procured at little cost,
The labour is not light;
Nor few artificers it asks,
All skilful in their several tasks,
To fashion us aright,
One fuses metal o’er the fire,
A second draws it into wire,
The shears another plies;
Who clips in length the brazen thread
From him who, chafing every shred,
Gives all an equal size.
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poem by William Cowper
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Burning
He lives, who last night flopped from a log
Into the creek, and all night by an ankle
Lay pinned to the flood, dead as a nail
But for the skin of the teeth of his dog.
I brought him boiled eggs and broth.
He coughed and waved his spoon
And sat up saying he would dine alone,
Being fatigue itself after that bath.
I sat without in the sun with the dog.
Wearing a stocking on the ailing foot,
In monster crutches, he hobbled out,
And addressed the dog in bitter rage.
He told the yellow hound, his rescuer,
Its heart was bad, and it ought
Not wander by the creek at night;
If all his dogs got drowned he would be poor.
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poem by Galway Kinnell
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The Trip
Like an unripe melon
Like a conquer Magellan
Like a handy capped Helen Keller
There is a moonster in the cellar
He has been there since last November
I was once a member-
Of his palace
Until I was hit in the head with a mallet
Creeping along the halls
I have spotted the moonster in conversation with the white rabbit
Me thinks that white rabbit has a nasty habit-
Of being late
Last time they nearly locked the gate
Is his clock too slow?
Or is telling time his foe?
At least the moonster and purple tiger know
Acid is a trip that is not a trick for kids
But the rabbits white hair show great age
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poem by Vincent Dali
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The Statues
PYTHAGORAS planned it. Why did the people stare?
His numbers, though they moved or seemed to move
In marble or in bronze, lacked character.
But boys and girls, pale from the imagined love
Of solitary beds, knew what they were,
That passion could bring character enough,
And pressed at midnight in some public place
Live lips upon a plummet-measured face.
No! Greater than Pythagoras, for the men
That with a mallet or a chisel' modelled these
Calculations that look but casual flesh, put down
All Asiatic vague immensities,
And not the banks of oars that swam upon
The many-headed foam at Salamis.
Europe put off that foam when Phidias
Gave women dreams and dreams their looking-glass.
One image crossed the many-headed, sat
Under the tropic shade, grew round and slow,
No Hamlet thin from eating flies, a fat
Dreamer of the Middle Ages. Empty eyeballs knew
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poem by William Butler Yeats
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