Where'er Quotes
More Where'er Quotes
Such is the patriot's boast, where'er we roam, His first, best country ever is, at home.
Oliver Goldsmith— 1764 The Traveller, l.73-4.
Jesus shall reign where'er the sun Does his successive journeys run; His kingdom stretch from shore to shore, Till moons shall wax and wane no more.
Isaac Watts— 1719 The Psalms of David Imitated, Psalm 72.
She was a form of life and light That seen, became a part of sight, And rose, where'er I turn'd mine eye, The morning-star of memory! Yes, love indeed is light from heaven; A spark of that immortal fire With angels shared, by Alla given, To lift from earth our low desire.
lord byron— Line 1127 (The Giaour (1813))
And now where'er he strays Among the Galilean mountains Or more unwelcome ways, He's followed by two faithful fountains; Two walking baths; two weeping motions; Portable and compendious oceans.
Richard Crashaw— 1646 'Saint Mary Magdalene, or The Weeper'.
Well may your hearts believe the truths I tell:'T is virtue makes the bliss, where'er we dwell.
william collins— Oriental Eclogues. 1, Line 5. Compare: "That virtue only makes our bliss below, / And all our knowledge is ourselves to know", Alexander Pope, Essay on Man, Epistle iv, line 397.
'T is sweet to think that where'er we roveWe are sure to find something blissful and dear;And that when we 're far from the lips we love,We've but to make love to the lips we are near.
thomas moore— 'T is sweet to think.
The eye— it cannot choose but see; we cannot bid the ear be still; our bodies feel, where'er they be, against or with our will.
william wordsworth— Expostulation and Reply, st. 5 (1798).
O happy friends! for, if my verse can give Immortal life, your fame shall ever live, Fix'd as the Capitol's foundation lies, And spread, where'er the Roman eagle flies!
john dryden— Book IX, lines 597-600.
Her track, where'er the goddess roves, Glory pursue, and gen'rous shame, Th' unconquerable mind, 3 and freedom's holy flame.
thomas gray— II. 2, Line 10.
Have faith! where'er thy bark is driven, 'The calm's disport, the tempest's mirth, Know this! God rules the host of heaven, The inhabitants of earth.
friedrich von schiller— Reported in Dictionary of Burning Words of Brilliant Writers (1895), edited bt Josiah Hotchkiss Gilbert, p. 284.
I read within a poet's book A word that starred the page, "Stone walls do not a prison make, Nor iron bars a cage." Yes, that is true, and something more: You'll find, where'er you roam, That marble floors and gilded walls Can never make a home. But every house where Love abides And Friendship is a guest, Is surely home, and home, sweet home; For there the heart can rest.
henry van dyke— Henry Van Dyke, Home Song.
O'er Egypt's land of memory floods are level, And they are thine, O Nile! and well thou knowest The soul-sustaining airs and blasts of evil, And fruits, and poisons spring where'er thou flowest.
Percy Bysshe Shelley— Percy Bysshe Shelley, Sonnet, To the Nile.
With good and gentle-humored hearts I choose to chat where'er I come Whate'er the subject be that starts. But if I get among the glum I hold my tongue to tell the truth And keep my Breath to cool my broth.
— John Byrom (1692–1763) , Careless Content. Quotes reported in Hoyt's New Cyclopedia Of Practical Quotations (1922), p. 137.
'Tis sweet to think that where'er we rove We are sure to find something blissful and dear; And that when we're far from the lips we love, We've but to make love to the lips we are near.
thomas moore— Thomas Moore, 'Tis Sweet to Think.
This is the charm, by sages often told, Converting all it touches into gold: Content can soothe, where'er by fortune placed, Can rear a garden in the desert waste.
— Henry Kirk White, Clifton Grove, line 130.
Roads are wet where'er one wendeth, And with rain the thistle bendeth, And the brook cries like a child! Not a rainbow shines to cheer us; Ah! the sun comes never near us, And the heavens look dark and wild.
mary howitt— The Wet Summer. From the German.
where'er I roam, whatever realms to see, My heart untravelled fondly turns to thee; Still to my brother turns with ceaseless pain, And drags at each remove a lengthening chain.
Oliver Goldsmith— 1764 The Traveller, l.7-10.
where'er I roam, whatever realms I see,My heart untraveled fondly turns to thee;Still to my brother turns with ceaseless pain,And drags at each remove a lengthening chain.
Oliver Goldsmith— Line 7.
where'er you walk, cool gales shall fan the glade,Trees, where you sit, shall crowd into a shade:where'er you tread, the blushing flow'rs shall rise,And all things flourish where you turn your eyes.
Alexander Pope— Summer, line 73.
where'er a noble deed is wrought, where'er is spoken a noble thought, Our hearts in glad surprise To higher levels rise.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow— Santa Filomena.
For I am a weed, Flung from the rock, on Ocean's foam, to sail, where'er the surge may sweep, the tempest's breath prevail.
lord byron— Lord Byron, Childe Harold's Pilgrimage, Canto III (1816), Stanza 2.
where'er I roam, whatever realms to see, my heart untraveled, fondly turns to thee. Still to my brother turns, with ceaseless pain, and drags at each remove a lengthening chain.
Oliver Goldsmith— The Traveller (1764), line 7.
where'er his fancy bids him roam, In ev'ry Inn he finds a home * * * * * Will not an Inn his cares beguile, Where on each face he sees a smile?
— William Combe, Dr. Syntax in Search of the Picturesque, Canto IX, line 13.
Whoe'er has travel'd life's dull round, where'er his stages may have been, May sigh to think he still has found The warmest welcome, at an inn.
— William Shenstone, written at an Inn at Henley. Different version in Dodsley's Collection.
Still must I on, for I am as a weed, Flung from the rock, on Ocean's foam, to sail where'er the surge may sweep.
lord byron— Lord Byron, Childe Harold's Pilgrimage, Canto III (1816), Stanza 2.
where'er he moves, the goddess shone before.
— Homer, The Iliad, Book XX, line 127. Pope's translation.
where'er we tread 'tis haunted, holy ground.
lord byron— Lord Byron, Childe Harold's Pilgrimage, Canto II (1812), Stanza 88.
On this I ponder where'er I wander, And thus grow fonder, Sweet Cork, of thee, With thy bells of Shandon, That sounds so grand on The pleasant waters Of the river Lee.
— Father Prout (Francis Mahoney), The Bells of Shandon, reported in Hoyt's New Cyclopedia Of Practical Quotations (1922), p. 415.
