Thomas Moore - Time Quotes

12 Sourced Quotes

View all Thomas Moore Quotes
It may help us, in those times of trouble, to remember that love is not only about relationship, it is also an affair of the soul.

Thomas Moore
Faintly as tolls the evening chime,
Our voices keep tune and our oars keep time.

Thomas Moore
How many times do we lose an occasion for soul work by leaping ahead to final solutions without pausing to savor the undertones? We are a radically bottom-line society, eager to act and to end tension, and thus we lose opportunities to know ourselves for our motives and our secrets.

Thomas Moore
One of the greatest problems of our time is that many are schooled but few are educated.

Thomas Moore
"Come, come," said Tom's father, "at
your time of life,
There's no longer excuse for thus
playing the rake—
It is time you should think, boy, of
taking a wife."
"Why, so it is father—whose wife
shall I take?"

Thomas Moore
If thou would'st have me sing and play
As once I play'd and sung,
First take this time-worn lute away,
And bring one freshly strung.

Thomas Moore
There's a bower of roses by Bendemeer's stream,
And the nightingale sings round it all the day long;
In the time of my childhood 'twas like a sweet dream,
To sit in the roses and hear the bird's song.

Thomas Moore
My Birthday! what a different sound
That word had in my youthful ears;
And how each time the day comes round,
Less and less white its mark appears.

Thomas Moore
Disappointments in love, even betrayals and losses, serve the soul at the very moment they seem in life to be tragedies. The soul is partly in time and partly in eternity. We might remember the part that resides in eternity when we feel despair over the part that is in life.

Thomas Moore
When Time who steals our years away
Shall steal our pleasures too,
The mem'ry of the past will stay,
And half our joys renew.

Thomas Moore
Those evening bells! those evening bells!
How many a tale their music tells
Of youth and home, and that sweet time
When last I heard their soothing chime!

Thomas Moore
Those golden birds that, in the spice-time, drop About the gardens, drunk with that sweet food Whose scent hath lur'd them o'er the summer flood And those that under Araby's soft sun Build their high nests of budding cinnamon.

Thomas Moore