Rupert Chawner Brooke (middle name sometimes given as Chaucer) (3 August 1887 – 23 April 1915) was an English poet known for his idealistic war sonnets written during the First World War, especially The Soldier. He was also known for his boyish good looks, which it is alleged prompted the Irish poet William Butler Yeats to describe him as "the handsomest young man in England.
Let this list of 17 quotations by the English poet Rupert Brooke lead you to an inspirational day. Recharge yourself with motivational love, fishy, water sayings, and satisfy your hunger for a better life.
What are the best Rupert Brooke quotes?
We've made this hand-picked collection of quotes to show you what is Rupert Brooke truly willing to say and leave for generations. Whether an inspirational quote or a motivational message about giving your best, we can all benefit from the wisdom, captured within these words.
Cities, like cats, will reveal themselves at night.
Infinite hungers leap no more I in the chance swaying of your dress;
and love has changed to kindliness.
Oh! death will find me long before I tire of watching you.
A kiss makes the heart young again and wipes out the years.
Breathless, we flung us on a windy hill, Laughed in the sun, and kissed the lovely grass.
A kiss makes the heart young again and wipes out the years.
It's all a terrible tragedy. And yet, in it's details, it's great fun. And - apart from the tragedy - I've never felt happier or better in my life than in those days in Belgium.
Stands the Church clock at ten to three? And is there honey still for tea?
If I should die, think only this of me:That there's some corner of a foreign fieldThat is for ever England. There shall beIn that rich earth a richer dust concealed;A dust whom England bore, shaped, made aware,Gave, once, her flowers to love, her ways to roam,A body of England's, breathing English air,Washed by the rivers, blest by suns of home.And think, this heart, all evil shed away,A pulse in the eternal mind, no lessGives somewhere back the thoughts by England given;Her sights and sounds; dreams happy as her day;And laughter, learnt of friends; and gentleness,In hearts at peace, under an English heaven.
Blow out, you bugles, over the rich Dead! There's none of these so lonely and poor of old, But, dying, has made us rarer gifts than gold.
These laid the world away; poured out the red
Sweet wine of youth; gave up the years to be
Of work and joy, and that unhoped serene,
That men call age; and those who would have been,
Their sons, they gave, their immortality.
But the best I've known
Stays here, and changes, breaks, grows old, is blown
About the winds of the world, and fades from brains
Of living men, and dies.
And I shall find some girl perhaps, and a better one than you, With eyes as wise, but kindlier, and lips as soft, but true, and I dare say she will do.
War knows no power. Safe shall be my going,
Secretly armed against all death's endeavour;
Safe though all safety's lost; safe where men fall;
And if these poor limbs die, safest of all.
Just now the lilac is in bloom,
All before my little room;
And in my flower-beds, I think,
Smile the carnation and the pink...
I shall desire and I shall findThe best of my desires;
The autumn road, the mellow windThat soothes the darkening shires.And laughter, and inn-fires.
Fish say, they have their Stream and Pond; But is there anything Beyond?
I thought when love for you died, I should die.
It's dead. Alone, most strangely, I live on.
If I should die, think only this of me:
That there's some corner of a foreign field
That is forever England. There shall be
In that rich earth a richer dust concealed;
A dust whom England bore, shaped, made aware,
Gave, once, her flowers to love, her ways to roam,
A body of England's, breathing English air,
Washed by the rivers, blest by suns of home.
One may not doubt that, somehow Good Shall come of Water and of Mud;
And sure, the reverent eye must see A purpose in Liquidity.
.. . . would I were
In Grantchester, in Grantchester!
Now, God be thanked Who has matched us with His hour,
And caught our youth, and wakened us from sleeping,
With hand made sure, clear eye, and sharpened power,
To turn, as swimmers into cleanness leaping.
Down the blue night the unending columns press
In noiseless tumult, break and wave and flow
I know what things are good: friendship and work and conversation. These I shall have.
But only agony, and that has ending;
And the worst friend and enemy is but Death.
I have a thousand images of you in an hour;
all different and all coming back to the same. I think of you once against a sky line: and on the hill that Sunday morning. The light and the shadow and quietness and the rain and the wood. And you. Your arms and lips and hair and shoulders and voice - you.
Just now the lilac is in bloom
All before my little room.
Yet, behind the night, Waits for the great unborn, somewhere afar, Some white tremendous daybreak.
Oh! death will find me, long before I tire
Of watching for you;
and swing me suddenly
Into the shade and loneliness and mire
Of the last land!
For Cambridge people rarely smile, Being urban, squat, and packed with guile.
There are only three things in the world, one is to read poetry, another is to write poetry, and the best of all is to live poetry.
But there's wisdom in women, of more than they have known, And thoughts go blowing through them, are wiser than their own.
Store up reservoirs of calm and content and draw on them at later moments when the source isn't there, but the need is very great.
I have been so great a lover: filled my days So proudly with the splendour of Love's praise, The pain, the calm, and the astonishment, Desire illimitable, and silent content, And all dear names men use, to cheat despair, For the perplexed and viewless streams that bear Our hearts at random down the dark of life.
They say that the Dead die not, but remain Near to the rich heirs of their grief and mirth. I think they ride the calm mid-heaven, as these, In wise majestic melancholy train, And watch the moon, and the still-raging seas, And men, coming and going on the earth.
A book may be compared to your neighbor: if it be good, it cannot last too long;
if bad, you cannot get rid of it too early.
Ponder deep wisdom, dark or clear,Each secret fishy hope or fear.
Fish say, they have their Stream and Pond;But is there anything Beyond?This life cannot be All, they swear,For how unpleasant, if it were!One may not doubt that, somehow, GoodShall come of Water and of Mud;And, sure, the reverent eye must seeA Purpose in Liquidity.
And in my flower-beds,
Smile the carnation
and the pink.
Love is a breach in the walls, a broken gate, Love sells the proud heart's citadel to fate.
But somewhere, beyond Space and Time, is wetter water, slimier slime! And there (they trust) there swimmeth one who swam ere rivers were begun, immense of fishy form and mind, squamous omnipotent, and kind.