William Cowper Quotes
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Great contest follows, and much learned dust Involves the combatants; each claiming truth, And truth disclaiming both.
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I pity them greatly, but I must be mum, for how could we do without sugar and rum?
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England, with all thy faults I love thee still, My country!
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But, oh, Thou bounteous Giver of all good, Thou art, of all Thy gifts, Thyself thy crown!
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A moral, sensible, and well-bred manWill not affront me, and no other can.
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Some to the fascination of a name, Surrender judgment hoodwinked.
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... she, that will with kittens jest, Should bear a kitten's joke.
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Blest be the art that can immortalize,--the art that baffles time's tyrannic claim to quench it.
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Absence of occupation is not rest; A mind quite vacant is a mind distressed.
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Admirals extolled for standing still, or doing nothing with a deal of skill.
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A fretful temper will divide the closest knot that may be tied, by ceaseless sharp corrosion; a temper passionate and fierce may suddenly your joys disperse at one immense explosion.
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Thieves at home must hang; but he that puts Into his overgorged and bloated purse The wealth of Indian provinces, escapes.
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If a great man struggling with misfortunes is a noble object, a little man that despises them is no contemptible one.
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He that has seen both sides of fifty has lived to little purpose if he has no other views of the world than he had when he was much younger.
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He that negotiates between God and man, As God's ambassador, the grand concerns Of judgment and of mercy, should beware Of lightness in his speech.
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Transforms old print To zigzag manuscript, and cheats the eyes Of gallery critics by a thousand arts.
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How much a dunce that has been sent to roam, excels a dunce that has been kept at home.
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Truth is the golden girdle of the globe.
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Religion does not censure or exclude Unnumbered pleasures, harmlessly pursued.
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The darkest day, if you live till tomorrow, will have passed away.
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In the vast, and the minute, we see The unambiguous footsteps of the God, Who gives its lustre to an insect's wing And wheels His throne upon the rolling worlds.
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The slaves of custom and established mode, With pack-horse constancy we keep the road Crooked or straight, through quags or thorny dells, True to the jingling of our leader's bells.
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Call'd to the temple of impure delight He that abstains, and he alone, does right. If a wish wander that way, call it home; He cannot long be safe whose wishes roam.
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Blind unbelief is sure to err, And scan his work in vain; God is his own interpreter, And he will make it plain.