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William C. Bryant Quotes

A sculptor wields The chisel, and the stricken marble grows To beauty.
William C. Bryant

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Author Details:
Type:
Poet Quotes
Category:
American Poet Quotes
Date of Birth:
November 3, 1794
Year of Death:
1878
Nationality:
American
Amazon:
William C. Bryant on Amazon

Related Authors:
Maya Angelou
Ogden Nash
Robert Frost
Ralph Waldo Emerson
Edgar Allan Poe
Walt Whitman
Langston Hughes
Emily Dickinson
T. S. Eliot

Select William C. Bryant Quotations:
There is no glory in star or blossom till looked upon by a loving eye; There is no fragrance in April breezes till breathed with joy as they wander by.
William C. Bryant

Difficulty, my brethren, is the nurse of greatness - a harsh nurse, who roughly rocks her foster - children into strength and athletic proportion.
William C. Bryant

Loveliest of lovely things are they on earth that soonest pass away. The rose that lives its little hour is prized beyond the sculptured flower.
William C. Bryant

The moon is at her full, and riding high, Floods the calm fields with light. The airs that hover in the summer sky Are all asleep to-night.
William C. Bryant

Poetry is that art which selects and arranges the symbols of thought in such a manner as to excite the imagination the most powerfully and delightfully.
William C. Bryant

Thine eyes are springs in whose serene And silent waters heaven is seen. Their lashes are the herbs that look On their young figures in the brook.
William C. Bryant

The February sunshine steeps your boughs and tints the buds and swells the leaves within.
William C. Bryant


Quote Keywords:

Beauty, Chisel, Grows, Marble, Sculptor, Stricken, Wields
Dictionary Links:

Beauty, Chisel, Marble, Sculptor, Stricken
All William C. Bryant Quotations:
A sculptor wields The chisel, and...
A stable, changeless state, 'twere cause...
All that tread, the globe are...
And suns grow meek, and the...
Difficulty, my brethren, is the nurse...
Eloquence is the poetry of prose.
Go forth under the open sky...
Loveliest of lovely things are they...
Pain dies quickly, and lets her...
Poetry is that art which selects...
Remorse is virtue's root; its fair...
The February sunshine steeps your boughs...
The groves were God's first temples.
The little windflower, whose just opened...
The moon is at her full...
There is no glory in star...
Thine eyes are springs in whose...
To him who in the love...
Truth gets well if she is...
Weep not that the world changes...
Where hast thou wandered. gentle gale...
Winning isn't everything, but it beats...

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