quote by Louis Antoine de Saint-Just

Fame is an empty noise. Let us put our ears to the centuries that have gone: we no longer hear anything; those who, at another time, shall walk among our urns, shall hear no more. The good - that is what we must pursue, whatever the price, preferring the title of a dead hero to that of a living coward.

— Louis Antoine de Saint-Just

Bashful Urn quotations

O cease! must hate and death return, Cease! must men kill and die? Cease! drain not to its dregs the urn Of bitter prophecy. The world is weary of the past, Oh, might it die or rest at last!

Can storied urn, or animated bust Back to its mansion call the fleeting breath? Can Honour's voice provoke the silent dust, Or Flatt'ry soothe the dull cold ear of Death?

When one that holds communion with the skies Has fill'd his urn where these pure waters rise, And once more mingles with us meaner things, 'Tis e'en as if an angel shook his wings.

Now stir the fire, and close the shutters fast, Let fall the curtains, wheel the sofa around, And while the bubbling and loud-hissing urn Throws up a steamy column, and the cups That cheer but not inebriate, wait on each, So let us welcome peaceful evening in

Not without a shudder may the human hand reach into the mysterious urn of destiny.

I have no urns, no dusty monuments; No broken images of ancestors, Wanting an ear, or nose; no forged tales Of long descents, to boast false honors from.

Beauty in this Iron Age must turn, From fluid living rainbow shapes to torn, And sootened fragments, ashes in an urn, On whose gray surface runes are traced by a Norn, Who hopes to wake the Future to arise, In Phoenix-fashion, and to shine with rays, To blast the sight of modern men whose dyes, Of selfishness and lust have stained our days...

Fate with impartial hand turns out the doom of high and low;

her capacious urn is constantly shaking the names of all mankind.

How deep congenital sex-inversion roots may be gathered from the fact that the pleasure-dream of the male Urning has to do with male persons, and of the female with females.

Let us fill urns with rose-leaves in May And hive the the trifty sweetness for December!

One evening, when I was yet in my nurse's arms, I wanted to touch the tea urn, which was boiling merrily ... My nurse would have taken me away from the urn, but my mother said "Let him touch it." So I touched it - and that was my first lesson in the meaning of liberty.

I have... had a disturbing dream in which I break through a cave wall near Nag Hammadi and discover urns full of ancient Coptic scrolls. As I unfurl the first scroll, a subscription card to some Gnostic exercise magazine flutters out.

In the darkness, two shadows, reaching through the hopeless, heavy dusk.

Their hands meet, and light spills in a flood like a hundred golden urns pouring out of the sun.

They sent forth men to battle, But no such men return;

And home, to claim their welcome, Come ashes in an urn

At the age of 12 I won the school prize for Best English Essay.

The prize was a copy of Somerset Maugham's 'Introduction To Modern English And American Literature.' To this day I keep it on the shelf between my collection of Forester's works and the little urn that contains my mother's ashes.

Stand on the highest pavement of the stair- Lean on a garden urn- Weave, weave the sunlight in your hair.

O Winter! frozen pulse and heart of fire, What loss is theirs who from thy kingdom turn Dismayed, and think thy snow a sculptured urn Of death! Far sooner in midsummer tire The streams than under ice. June could not hire Her roses to forego the strength they learn In sleeping on thy breast.

So his life has flowed, From its mysterious urn a sacred stream, In whose calm depth the beautiful and pure, Alone are mirrored; which, though shapes of ill, May hover round its surface, glides in light, And takes no shadow from them.

And alien tears will fill for him pity's long broken urn.

For his mourners will all be outcast men, and outcasts always mourn.

If a writer has to rob his mother, he will not hesitate;

the Ode on a Grecian Urn is worth any number of old ladies.

Death is a mighty mediator. There all the flames of rage are extinguished, hatred is appeased, and angelic pity, like a weeping sister, bends with gentle and close embrace over the funeral urn.

The writer's only responsibility is to his art.

He will be completely ruthless if he is a good one. He has a dream. Everything goes by the board: honor, pride, decency, security, happiness, all, to get the book written. If a writer has to rob his mother, he will not hesitate; the Ode on a Grecian Urn is worth any number of old ladies.

Stern is the on-look of necessity,Not without shudder may a human handGrasp the mysterious urn of destiny.

With one hand he put a penny in the urn of poverty, and with the other took a shilling out.

Two urns on Jove's high throne have ever stood, the source of evil one, and one of good; from thence the cup of mortal man he fills, blessings to these, to those distributes ills; to most he mingles both.

Beauty is truth, truth beauty,'--that is all Ye know on earth, and all ye need to know. - Ode to a Grecian Urn

Something that is supposed to typify or stand for something else.

Many symbols are mere "survivals" - as funereal urns carved on memorial monuments. We cannot stop making them, but we can give them a name that conceals our helplessness.

Tea at college was served on long tables with an urn at the end of each.

Long baguettes of bread, three to a table, were set out with meagre portions of butter and jam; the china was coarse to withstand the schoolboy-clutch and the tea strong. At the Hôtel de Paris I was astonished at the fragility of the cups, the silver teapot, the little triangular savoury sandwiches, the éclairs stuffed with cream.

He is covered by the heavens who has no sepulchral urn.

The heart ran o'er With silent worship of the great of old!-- The dead, but sceptred sovereigns, who still rule Our spirits from their urns.

There's many a white hand holds an urn With lovers' hearts to dust consumed.

Dust in an urn long since, dispersed and dead Is great Apollo; and the happier he

If an urn lacks the characteristics of an urn, how can we call it an urn?

In the capacious urn of death, every name is shaken. [Lat., Omne capax movet urna nomen.]

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