Plume Quotes
More Plume Quotes
Along the river's summer walk, The withered tufts of asters nod; And trembles on its arid stalk The hoar plume of the golden-rod. And on a ground of sombre fir, And azure-studded juniper, The silver birch its buds of purple shows, And scarlet berries tell where bloomed the sweet wild-rose!
— [[John Greenleaf Whittier, The Last Walk in Autumn.
Qui plume a, guerre a.
voltaire— To hold a pen is to be at war.Letter to Jeanne-Grâce Bosc du Bouchet, comtesse d'Argental (4 October 1748)This remark also appears in a letter to Marie-Louise Denis (22 May 1752): To hold a pen is to be at war. This world is one vast temple consecrated to discord [Qui plume a, guerre a. Ce monde est un vaste temple dédié à la discorde].
Now we lament one Who danced on a plume of words, Sang with a fountain's panache, Dazzled like slate roofs in sun After rain, was flighty as birds And alone as a mountain ash. The ribald, inspired urchin Leaning over the lip Of his world, as over a rock pool Or a lucky dip, Found everything brilliant and virgin.
cecil day lewis— 'In Memory of Dylan Thomas' (1953)
Aucun fiel n'a jamais empoisonne ma plume.
claude prosper jolyot de crébillon— No gall has ever poisoned my pen.
— Discours de Reception; reported in Hoyt's New Cyclopedia Of Practical Quotations (1922).
You fools! I and my fellows Are ministers of Fate; the elements Of whom your swords are temper'd, may as well Wound the loud winds, or with bemock'd-at stabs Kill the still-closing waters, as diminish One dowle that's in my plume.
william shakespeare— William Shakespeare, The Tempest (c. 1610-1612), Act III, scene 3, line 60.
Je suis un galérien de plume et d'encre.
honoré de balzac— I am a galley slave to pen and ink.Letter to Zulma Carraud (2 July 1832), translated by C. Lamb Kenney
Let statesmen bluster, bark and bray, And so decide who started This bloody war, and who's to pay, But he must be stout-hearted, Must sit and stake with quiet breath, Playing at cards with Death. Don't plume yourself he fights for you; It is no courage, love, or hate, But let us do the things we do; It's pride that makes the heart be great; It is not anger, no, nor fear Lucasta he's a Fusilier, And his pride keeps him here.
robert graves— "To Lucasta on Going to the War — For the Fourth Time"
An aged thrush, frail, gaunt, and small, In blast-beruffled plume, Had chosen thus to fling his soul Upon the growing gloom. So little cause for carolings Of such ecstatic sound Was written on terrestrial things Afar or nigh around, That I could think there trembled through His happy good-night air Some blessed Hope, whereof he knew And I was unaware.
thomas hardy— The Darkling Thrush, lines 21-32.
"Get thee back into the tempest and the Night's Plutonian shore! Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken! Leave my loneliness unbroken! quit the bust above my door! Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!" Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."
edgar allan poe— Stanza 17. (The Raven (1844))
Sense is our helmet, wit is but the plume; The plume exposes, 'tis our helmet saves. Sense is the diamond, weighty, solid, sound; When cut by wit, it casts a brighter beam; Yet, wit apart, it is a diamond still.
Edward Young— Edward Young, Night Thoughts (1742-1745), Night VIII, line 1,254.
Like a young eagle, who has lent his plume To fledge the shaft by which he meets his doom, See their own feathers pluck'd to wing the dart Which rank corruption destines for their heart.
thomas moore— Thomas Moore, Corruption.
The bird of Jove, stoop'd from his aery tour, Two birds of gayest plume before him drove.
john milton— John Milton, Paradise Lost, Book XI, line 184.
Some full-breasted swan That, fluting a wild carol ere her death, Ruffles her pure cold plume, and takes the flood With swarthy webs.
Alfred Tennyson— Passing of Arthur.
Why is the hearse with scutcheons blazon'd round, And with the nodding plume of ostrich crown'd? No; the dead know it not, nor profit gain; It only serves to prove the living vain.
john gay— John Gay, Trivia, Book III, line 231.
Graceful , tossing plume of glowing gold, Waving lonely on the rocky ledge; Leaning seaward, lovely to behold, Clinging to the high cliff's ragged edge.
celia thaxter— Celia Thaxter, Seaside Goldenrod.
Aucun fiel n'a jamais empoisonne ma plume.
— No gall has ever poisoned my pen.
— Claude Prosper Jolyot de Crébillon, Discours de Reception.
Wake, soldier wake, thy war-horse waits To bear thee to the battle back; Thou slumberest at a foeman's gates, Thy dog would break thy bivouac; Thy plume is trailing in the dust, And thy red falchion gathering rust.
thomas kibble hervey— Dead Trumpeter.
Tant la plume a eu sous le roi d'avantage sur l'épée.
— So far had the pen, under the king, the superiority over the sword.
— Saint Simon, Mémoires, Volume III (1702; Ed. 1856), p. 517.
Sir plume, of amber snuff-box justly vain, And the nice conduct of a clouded cane.
Alexander Pope— 1714 The Rape of the Lock, canto 4, l.123-4.
Sir plume, of amber snuff-box justly vain,And the nice conduct of a clouded cane.
Alexander Pope— Canto IV, line 123.
Sir plume, of amber snuff-box justly vain, And the nice conduct of a clouded cane.
Alexander Pope— Alexander Pope, The Rape of the Lock (1712), Canto IV, line 122.
An aged thrush, frail, gaunt and small, In blast-beruffled plume, Had chosen thus to fling his sail Upon the growing gloom. So little cause for carollings Of such ecstatic sound Was written on terrestrial things Afar or nigh around, That I could think there trembled through 382 His happy good-night air Some blessed Hope, whereof he knew And I was unaware.
thomas hardy— 1902 'The Darkling Thrush'.
Like some full-breasted swan That, fluting a wild carol ere her death, Ruffles her pure cold plume, and takes the flood With swarthy webs.
Tennyson— 1869 Idylls of the King,'The Passing of Arthur', l.434-7.
She left the web, she left the loom, She made three paces through the room, She saw the water-lily bloom, She saw the helmet and the plume, She looked down to Camelot. Out flew the web and floated wide; The mirror cracked from side to side; 'The curse is come upon me', cried The Lady of Shalott.
Tennyson— 1832 Poems,'The Lady of Shalott' (revised1842), pt.3, l.109-17.
