Quotes
Quotes - Cowper
Habits of close attention, thinking heads, Become more rare as dissipation spreads, Till authors hear at length one general cry Tickle and entertain us, or we die!
So that the jest is clearly to be seen, Not in the words--but in the gap between; Manner is all in all, whate'er is writ, The substitute for genius, sense, and wit.
The church-going bell.
How soft the music of those village bells, Falling at interval upon the ear In cadence sweet; now dying all away, Now pealing loud again, and louder still, Clear and sonorous, as the gale comes on! With easy force it opens all the cells Where Memory slept.
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.
But oars alone can ne'er prevail To reach the distant coast; The breath of Heaven must swell the sail, Or all the toil is lost.
Toil for the brave! The brave that are no more.
A business with an income at its heels.
With spots quadrangular of diamond form, Ensanguined hearts, clubs typical of strife, And spades, the emblems of untimely graves.
Still ending, and beginning still.
True Charity, a plant divinely nurs'd.
Thus neither the praise nor the blame is our own.
God made the country, and man made the town.
Man may dismiss compassion from his heart, but God never will.
The still small voice is wanted.
Give what thou canst, without Thee we are poor; And with Thee rich, take what Thou wilt away.
Great contest follows, and much learned dust Involves the combatants; each claiming truth, And truth disclaiming both.
But conversation, choose what theme we may, And chiefly when religion leads the way, Should flow, like waters after summer show'rs, Not as if raised by mere mechanic powers.
. . . thieves at home must hang; but he that puts Into his overgorged and bloated purse The wealth of Indian provinces, escapes.
But many a crime deemed innocent on earth Is registered in Heaven; and these no doubt Have each their record, with a curse annex'd.
Detested sport, That owes its pleasures to another's pain.
Beware of desperate steps. The darkest day, Live till to-morrow, will have pass'd away.
Could he with reason murmur at his case, Himself sole author of his own disgrace?
He would not, with a peremptory tone, Assert the nose upon his face his own.
Dream after dream ensues; And still they dream that they shall still succeed; And still are disappointed.
