Alfred, Lord Tennyson Quotes

The silver swan, who, living had no note, When death approached unlocked her silent throat.

Applaud my friends, the comedy is over... [on his death bed]

And over the pond are sailing Two swans all white as snow; Sweet voices mysteriously wailing Pierce through me as onward they go. They sail along, and a ringing Sweet melody rises on high; And when the swans begin singing, They presently must die.

The swan is not without cause dedicated to Apollo, because foreseeing his happiness in death, he dies with singing and pleasure.

Hear the music, the thunder of the wings. Love the wild swan.

I am now face to face with dying. But I am not finished with living.

But Grover’s voice was already growing fainter. ‘Sweet dreams. Don’t let me die!

And in the dream I knew that he was goin on ahead and that he was fixin to make a fire somewhere out there in all that dark and all that cold and I knew that whenever I got there he would be there. And then I woke up.

The 20th century ended with a single surviving model of human progress.

When awful darkness and silence reign Over the great Gromboolian plain, Through the long, long wintry nights.

The surrealist thinks he has outstripped the whole of literary history when he has written (here a word that there is no need to write) where others have written "jasmines, swans and fauns." But what he has really done has been simply to bring to light another form of rhetoric which hitherto lay hidden in the latrines.

Like vichyssoise, revenge is a dish best served cold.

I'm alone, stumbling through the city in the dark, trying not to let the night freeze my blood.

Given the chance, i'll die like a baby, on some faraway beach, when the season's over.

He thought it happier to be dead, To die for Beauty, than live for bread

The nights were blinding cold and casket black and the long reach of the morning had a terrible silence to it.

Let the long contention cease! / Geese are swans, and swans are geese.

I will probably die singing.

both doubt and certainty are as contagious as the common cold

I've got life for a subject because as life starts to drain away, you start seeing very clearly what life is, for the first time.

A rare bird on this earth, like nothing so much as a black swan.

White swan of cities slumbering in thy nest . . . White phantom city, whose untrodden streets Are rivers, and whose pavements are the shifting Shadows of the palaces and strips of sky.