William Cowper Quotes
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Good sense, good health, good conscience, and good fame,--all these belong to virtue, and all prove that virtue has a title to your love.
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With spots quadrangular of diamond form, ensanguined hearts, clubs typical of strife, and spades, the emblems of untimely graves.
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Solitude, seeming a sanctuary, proves a grave; a sepulchre in which the living lie, where all good qualities grow sick and die
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He finds his fellow guilty of a skin Not color'd like his own, and having pow'r T' enforce the wrong, for such a worthy cause Dooms and devotes him as his lawful prey.
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All truth is precious, if not all divine; and what dilates the powers must needs refine.
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Poor England! thou art a devoted deer, Beset with every ill but that of fear. The nations hunt; all mock thee for a prey; They swarm around thee, and thou stand'st at bay.
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Toil for the brave! The brave that are no more.
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The path of sorrow, and that path alone, leads to the land where sorrow is unknown.
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Words learn'd by rote a parrot may rehearse, But talking is not always to converse, Not more distinct from harmony divine The constant creaking of a country sign.
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Pleasure admitted in undue degree, enslaves the will, nor leaves the judgment free.
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Sends Nature forth the daughter of the skies... To dance on earth, and charm all human eyes.
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I pity bashful men, who feel the pain Of fancied scorn and undeserved disdain, And bear the marks upon a blushing face, OF needless shame, and self-impos'd disgrace.
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Events of all sorts creep or fly exactly as God pleases.
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War's a game, which, were their subjects wise, Kings would not play at.
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He that attends to his interior self, That has a heart, and keeps it; has a mind That hungers, and supplies it; and who seeks A social, not a dissipated life, Has business.
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And the tear that is wiped with a little address, May be follow'd perhaps by a smile.
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Fanaticism, the false fire of an overheated mind.
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No man can be a patriot on an empty stomach.
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Man disavows, and Deity disowns me: hell might afford my miseries a shelter; therefore hell keeps her ever-hungry mouths all bolted against me.
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The bud may have a bitter taste, But sweet will be the flower.
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Now stir the fire, and close the shutters fast, Let fall the curtains, wheel the sofa around, And while the bubbling and loud-hissing urn Throws up a steamy column, and the cups That cheer but not inebriate, wait on each, So let us welcome peaceful evening in
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O, popular applause! what heart of man is proof against thy sweet, seducing charms?
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How! leap into the pit our life to save? To save our life leap all into the grave.
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Skins may differ, but affection Dwells in white and black the same.