Rudyard Kipling Quotes

One good quote is worth a book

One good quote is worth a book

Now it is not good for the Christian's health
To hustle the Aryan brown,
For the Christian read more

Now it is not good for the Christian's health
To hustle the Aryan brown,
For the Christian riles and the Aryan smiles,
And it weareth the Christian down.
And the end of the fight is a tombstone white
With the name of the late deceased--
And the epitaph drear: "A fool lies here
Who tried to hustle the East."

The female of the species is more deadly than the male.

The female of the species is more deadly than the male.

And the talk slid north, and the talk slid south
With the sliding puffs from the hookah-mouth;
read more

And the talk slid north, and the talk slid south
With the sliding puffs from the hookah-mouth;
Four things greater than all things are--
Women and Horses and Power and War.

The Liner she's a lady, an' she never looks nor 'eeds--
The Man-o'-War's 'er 'usband an' 'e gives 'er read more

The Liner she's a lady, an' she never looks nor 'eeds--
The Man-o'-War's 'er 'usband an' 'e gives 'er all she needs;
But, oh, the little cargo-boats, that sail the wet seas roun',
They're just the same as you an' me, a'-plyin' up an' down.

A heathy garden is a reflection of a healthy soul.

A heathy garden is a reflection of a healthy soul.

If I were hanged on the highest hill,
Mother o' mine, O mother o' mine!
I know read more

If I were hanged on the highest hill,
Mother o' mine, O mother o' mine!
I know whose love would follow me still,
Mother o' mine, O mother o' mine!

Her plates are scarred by the sun, dear lass,
And her ropes are taut with the dew,
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Her plates are scarred by the sun, dear lass,
And her ropes are taut with the dew,
For we're booming down on the old trail, our own trail, the out
trail,
We're sagging south on the Long Trail, the trail that is always
new.

God of our fathers, known of old,
Lord of our far-flung battle-line,
Beneath whose awful Hand we read more

God of our fathers, known of old,
Lord of our far-flung battle-line,
Beneath whose awful Hand we hold
Dominion over palm and pine--
Lord God of Hosts, be with us yet,
Lest we forget--lest we forget!

'Ave you 'eard o' the Widow at Windsor
With a hairy old crown on 'er 'ead?
She read more

'Ave you 'eard o' the Widow at Windsor
With a hairy old crown on 'er 'ead?
She 'as ships on the foam--she 'as millions at 'ome,
An' she pays us poor beggars in red.