Visions of glory, spare my aching sight! Ye unborn ages, crowd not on my soul!
Thomas GrayRead
Nor grandeur hear with a disdainful smile The short and simple annals of the poor.
Interpretation
The quote reflects on the value of the lives of the poor, urging us not to dismiss their stories with arrogance.
In this quote, Thomas Gray emphasizes the importance of recognizing the simplicity and dignity in the lives of the poor. He warns against the disdain that often accompanies the wealthy and powerful when they regard the unremarkable lives of the less fortunate, suggesting that every life, no matter how humble, has its own unique narrative that deserves respect and acknowledgment.
In practice
This quote could be shared in a lecture on social justice to highlight the importance of valuing all lives.
Visions of glory, spare my aching sight! Ye unborn ages, crowd not on my soul!
Here rests his head upon the lap of earth, A youth to fortune and to fame unknown: Fair Science frown'd not on his humble birth, And Melancholy mark'd him for her own.
Can honor's voice provoke the silent dust, or flattery soothe the dull, cold ear of death?
Far from the madding crowd's ignoble strife Their sober wishes never learn'd to stray; Along the cool sequester'd vale of life They kept the noiseless tenor of their way.
Ah, happy hills! ah, pleasing shade! Ah, fields beloved in vain! Where once my careless childhood stray'd, A stranger yet to pain! I feel the gales that from ye blow A momentary bliss bestow.
Any fool may write a most valuable book by chance, if he will only tell us what he heard and saw with veracity.
For 'Tis not in mere death that men die most.
There is superficial conflict but deep concord between science and theistic religion, but superficial concord and deep conflict between science and naturalism
We are swimming on the face of time and all else has drowned, is drowning, or will drown.
Wanderers eastward, wanderers west, Know you why you cannot rest? 'Tis that every mother's son Travails with a skeleton. Lie down in the bed of dust; Bear the fruit that bear you must; Bring the eternal seed to light, And morn is all the same as night.
And whoever walks a furlong without sympathy walks to his own funeral drest in his shroud.
It's only in hindsight that you realize what indeed your childhood was really like.
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