Visions of glory, spare my aching sight! Ye unborn ages, crowd not on my soul!
Thomas GrayRead
Can honor's voice provoke the silent dust, or flattery soothe the dull, cold ear of death?
Interpretation
This quote questions the power of honor and flattery in the face of death.
Thomas Gray's quote reflects on the futility of honor and flattery when confronted with the inevitability of death. It suggests that no amount of praise or recognition can penetrate the silence of death, highlighting the ultimate powerlessness of worldly accolades in the face of mortality.
In practice
This quote could be used in a eulogy to emphasize the importance of character over accolades.
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.
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.
Sweet is the breath of vernal shower,/ The bee's collected treasure sweet,/ Sweet music's melting fall, but sweeter yet/ The still small voice of gratitude.
Living is being born slowly. It would be a little too easy if we could borrow ready-made souls.
The uncontested absurdities of today are the accepted slogans of tomorrow. They come to be accepted by degrees, by dint of constant pressure on one side and constant retreat on the other - until one day when they are suddenly declared to be the country's official ideology.
And what a congress of stinks!- Roots ripe as old bait, Pulpy stems, rank, silo-rich, Leaf mold, manure, lime, piled against slippery planks, Nothing would give up life: Even the dirt kept breathing a small breath.
Some people write heavily, some write lightly. I prefer the light approach because I believe there is a great deal of false reverence about. There is too much solemnity and intensity in dealing with sacred matters; too much speaking in holy tones.
To all general purposes we have uniformly been one people each individual citizen everywhere enjoying the same national rights, privileges, and protection.
He was a degenerate gambler. That is, a man who gambled simply to gamble and must lose. As a hero who goes to war must die. Show me a gambler and I'll show you a loser, show me a hero and I'll show you a corpse.
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