Robert Louis Stevenson

(1850-1894 / Edinburgh / Scotland)

Robert Louis Stevenson Quotes

  • ''All speech, written or spoken, is a dead language, until it finds a willing and prepared hearer.''
    Robert Louis Stevenson (1850-1894), Scottish novelist, essayist, poet. repr. In Complete Works, vol. 26 (1924). Reflections and Remarks on Human Life, sct. 3 (first published 1878).
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  • ''It is the mark of a good action that it appears inevitable in retrospect.''
    Robert Louis Stevenson (1850-1894), Scottish novelist, essayist, poet. repr. In Complete Works, vol. 26 (1924). "Reflections and Remarks on Human Life," sct. 4 (1878).
  • ''I have done my fiddling so long under Vesuvius that I have almost forgotten to play, and can only wait for the eruption and think it long of coming. Literally no man has more wholly outlived life than I. And still it's good fun.''
    Robert Louis Stevenson (1850-1894), Scottish novelist, essayist, poet. Stevenson's Letters to Charles Baxter (1956). Closing lines of letter written a few months before Stevenson's death in Samoa.
  • ''When it comes to my own turn to lay my weapons down, I shall do so with thankfulness and fatigue, and whatever be my destiny afterward, I shall be glad to lie down with my fathers in honour. It is human at least, if not divine.''
    Robert Louis Stevenson (1850-1894), Scottish novelist, essayist, poet. Letter, autumn 1894. Stevenson's Letters to Charles Baxter (1956). Stevenson died in December of that year.
  • ''Marriage is one long conversation, chequered by disputes.''
    Robert Louis Stevenson (1850-1894), Scottish novelist, essayist, poet. (Originally published 1882). Talk and Talkers, paper 2, Memories and Portraits (1887).

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Best Poem of Robert Louis Stevenson

Summer Sun

Great is the sun, and wide he goes
Through empty heaven with repose;
And in the blue and glowing days
More thick than rain he showers his rays.

Though closer still the blinds we pull
To keep the shady parlour cool,
Yet he will find a chink or two
To slip his golden fingers through.

The dusty attic spider-clad
He, through the keyhole, maketh glad;
And through the broken edge of tiles
Into the laddered hay-loft smiles.

Meantime his golden face around
He bares to all the garden ground,
And sheds a warm and glittering look ...

Read the full of Summer Sun

In Lupum

BEYOND the gates thou gav'st a field to till;
I have a larger on my window-sill.
A farm, d'ye say? Is this a farm to you,
Where for all woods I spay one tuft of rue,
And that so rusty, and so small a thing,
One shrill cicada hides it with a wing;
Where one cucumber covers all the plain;
And where one serpent rings himself in vain
To enter wholly; and a single snail

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