Rudyard Kipling

(30 December 1865 – 18 January 1936 / Bombay)

Rudyard Kipling Quotes

  • ''We aren't no thin red 'eroes, nor we aren't no blackguards too,
    But single men in barricks, most remarkable like you;
    And if sometimes our conduck isn't all your fancy paints,
    Why, single men in barricks don't grow into plaster saints.''
    Rudyard Kipling (1865-1936), British author, poet. Tommy, Barrack-Room Ballads (1892).
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  • ''And no one shall work for money, and no one shall work for fame,
    But each for the joy of the working, and each, in his separate star,
    Shall draw the Thing as he sees It for the God of Things as They
    are!''
    Rudyard Kipling (1865-1936), British poet. When Earth's last picture is painted, and the tubes are twisted and dried (l. 10-12). . . Rudyard Kipling; Complete Verse; Definitive Edition. (1989) Doubleday.
  • ''San Francisco is a mad city—inhabited for the most part by perfectly insane people whose women are of a remarkable beauty.''
    Rudyard Kipling (1865-1936), British author, poet. American Notes (1891).
  • ''Five and twenty ponies
    Trotting through the dark—
    Brandy for the Parson, 'Baccy for the Clerk;
    Laces for a lady, letters for a spy,
    And watch the wall, my darling, while the Gentlemen go by!''
    Rudyard Kipling (1865-1936), British writer, poet. "A Smuggler's Song," Puck of Pook's Hill (1906).
  • '''How far is St. Helena from an Emperor of France?'
    I cannot see—I cannot tell—the Crowns they dazzle so.
    The Kings sit down to dinner, and the Queens stand up to dance.
    (After open weather you may look for snow!)''
    Rudyard Kipling (1865-1936), British poet. A St. Helena Lullaby (l. 13-16). . . Rudyard Kipling; Complete Verse; Definitive Edition. (1989) Doubleday.
  • ''I—'ave—marched—six—weeks in 'Ell an' certify
    It—is—not—fire—devils, dark or anything,
    But boots—boots—boots—boots—movin' up an' down again,
    An' there's no discharge in the war!''
    Rudyard Kipling (1865-1936), British poet. Boots (l. 29-32). . . Rudyard Kipling; Complete Verse; Definitive Edition. (1989) Doubleday.
  • ''Call a truce, then, to our labours—let us feast with friends and neighbours,
    And be merry as the custom of our caste;
    For if "faint and forced the laughter," and if sadness follow after,
    We are richer by one mocking Christmas past.''
    Rudyard Kipling (1865-1936), British author, poet. Christmas in India.
  • ''If any question why we died,
    Tell them, because our fathers lied.''
    Rudyard Kipling (1865-1936), British author, poet. "Common Form," The Years Between (1919).
  • ''And that is called paying the Dane-geld;
    But we've proved it again and again,
    That if once you have paid him the Dane-geld
    You never get rid of the Dane.''
    Rudyard Kipling (1865-1936), British author, poet. Dane-Geld, History of England (1911).
  • ''For they're hangin' Danny Deever, you can hear the Dead March play,
    The Regiment's in 'ollow square—they're hangin' him to-day;
    They've taken of his buttons off an' cut his stripes away,
    An' they're hangin' Danny Deever in the mornin'.''
    Rudyard Kipling (1865-1936), British writer, poet. "Danny Deever," Barrack-Room Ballads (1892).

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Best Poem of Rudyard Kipling

If

If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you;
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too:
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or, being lied about, don't deal in lies,
Or being hated don't give way to hating,
And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise;

If you can dream- -and not make dreams your master;
If you can think- -and not make thoughts your aim,
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the ...

Read the full of If

The First Chantey

Mine was the woman to me, darkling I found her;
Haling her dumb from the camp, took her and bound her.
Hot rose her tribe on our track ere I had proved her;
Hearing her laugh in the gloom, greatly I loved her.

Swift through the forest we ran; none stood to guard us,
Few were my people and far; then the flood barred us --
Him we call Son of the Sea, sullen and swollen.
Panting we waited the death, stealer and stolen.

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