Top Robert Wilson Lynd Quotes

Robert Wilson Lynd Biography

Robert Wilson Lynd (Irish: Roibéard Ó Floinn; 20 April 1879 – 6 October 1949) was an Anglo-Irish writer, editor of poetry, urbane literary essayist and strong Irish nationalist.

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Robert Wilson Lynd Quotes

It may be that all games are silly. But then, so are humans.

Games, Humans, Playing Games, Silly, Sports

It is almost impossible to remember how tragic a place the world is when one is playing golf.

Golf, Remember, Sports, World

We cannot get happiness by striving after it, and yet with an effort we can impart it.

Effort, Happiness, Impart, Strive

With Wordsworth, indeed, the light of revelation did not fall upon human beings so unbrokenly as upon the face of the earth. He knew the birds of the countryside better than the old men, and the flowers far better than the children.

Children, Countryside, Face, Fall, Flower, Men

There are two sorts of curiosity - the momentary and the permanent. The momentary is concerned with the odd appearance on the surface of things. The permanent is attracted by the amazing and consecutive life that flows on beneath the surface of things.

Attracted, Inspirational, Life, Sorts, Things, Two

This is woman's great benevolence, that she will become a martyr for beauty, so that the world may have pleasure.

Beauty, Benevolence, May, Women, World

The days on which one has been the most inquisitive are among the days on which one has been happiest.

Among, Days, Happiest, Has Beens, Inquisitive

Dostoevsky's visible world was a world of sensationalism. He may in the last analysis be a great mystic or a great psychologist; but he almost always reveals his genius on a stage crowded with people who behave like the men and women one reads about in the police news.

Men, People, Police, Sensationalism, Stage

The art of writing history is the art of emphasizing the significant facts at the expense of the insignificant. And it is the same in every field of knowledge. Knowledge is power only if a man knows what facts not to bother about.

Art, Facts, Insignificant, Men, Writing

The last spectacle of which Christian men are likely to grow tired is a harbour. Centuries hence there may be jumping-off places for the stars, and our children's children's and so forth children may regard a ship as a creeping thing scarcely more adventurous than a worm. Meanwhile, every harbour gives us a sense of being in touch, if not with the ends of the universe, with the ends of the earth.

Children, Christian, Ends, Forth, Stars, Universe

The belief in the possibility of a short decisive war appears to be one of the most ancient and dangerous of human illusions.

Appears, Human, Military, Peace, Possibility, War

The mirror that Strindberg held up to Nature was a cracked one. It was cracked in a double sense -- it was crazy. It gave back broken images of a world which it made look like the chaos of a lunatic dream.

Crazy, Dream, Images, Lunatic, Mirrors, Strindberg

In order to see birds it is necessary to become a part of the silence.

Become, Birds, Inspirational, Motivational, Nature, Part

The lovers of beauty must unite in a league, and carry out some great propagandist work through the country. They must demand the extermination of the bulldog and the dismantling of the cheap villa, both of which are responsible for a deal of our contentment amid ugliness.

Amid, Contentment, Country, Demand, League, Work

When one has praised Turgenev, however, for the beauty of his character and the beautiful truth of his art, one remembers that he, too, was human and therefore less than perfect. His chief failing was, perhaps, that of all the great artists, he was the most lacking in exuberance. That is why he began to be scorned in a world which rated exuberance higher than beauty or love or pity.

Art, Artists, Beautiful, Character, Failing, Truth

It is doubtful if even experience of riches and success is as intense among those who have experienced nothing else as among those who have also experienced poverty and failure. There is little romance in wealth to those who have been born wealthy and whose families have been wealthy for generations.

Born, Doubtful, Generations, Littles, Romance

Mystery lies over the sea. Every ship is bound for Thule.

Bound, Lying, Mystery, Sea, Ships, Thule

Were I a philosopher, I should write a philosophy of toys, showing that nothing else in life need to be taken seriously, and that Christmas Day in the company of children is one of the few occasions on which men become entirely alive.

Children, Christmas, Company, Philosophy, Taken, Xmas

On the whole, however, the critic is far less of a professional faultfinder than is sometimes imagined. He is first of all a virtue-finder, a singer of praise. He is not concerned with getting rid of dross except in so far as it hides the gold. In other words, the destructive side of criticism is purely a subsidiary affair. None of the best critics have been men of destructive minds. They are like gardeners whose business is more with the flowers than with the weeds.

Concerned, Destructive, Flower, Imagined, Men, Weed

Swinburne was an absurd character. He was a bird of showy strut and plumage. One could not but admire his glorious feathers; but, as soon as he began to moult. . . one saw how very little body there was underneath.

Bird, Body, Character, Feathers, Glorious

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Robert Wilson Lynd Biography

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