Quotes
Quotes about Soul
Is there a parson much bemused in beer,
A maudlin poetess, a rhyming peer,
A clerk foredoom'd his father's soul to cross,
Who pens a stanza when he should engross?
There St. John mingles with my friendly bowl,
The feast of reason and the flow of soul.
Speed the soft intercourse from soul to soul,
And waft a sigh from Indus to the Pole.
See my lips tremble and my eyeballs roll,
Suck my last breath, and catch my flying soul.
Tell me, my soul, can this be death?
The mouse that always trusts to one poor hole
Can never be a mouse of any soul.
Andromache! my soul's far better part.
Not hate, but glory, made these chiefs contend;
And each brave foe was in his soul a friend.
Two friends, two bodies with one soul inspir'd.
'T is fortune gives us birth,
But Jove alone endues the soul with worth.
Sinks my sad soul with sorrow to the grave.
His native home deep imag'd in his soul.
In ev'ry sorrowing soul I pour'd delight,
And poverty stood smiling in my sight.
But he whose inborn worth his acts commend,
Of gentle soul, to human race a friend.
And rest at last where souls unbodied dwell,
In ever-flowing meads of Asphodel.
Despatch is the soul of business.
Friendship! mysterious cement of the soul!
Sweetener of life! and solder of society!
Awake, my soul! stretch every nerve,
And press with vigour on;
A heavenly race demands thy zeal,
And an immortal crown.
Then with no throbs of fiery pain,
No cold gradations of decay,
Death broke at once the vital chain,
And freed his soul the nearest way.
The limbs will quiver and move after the soul is gone.
Visions of glory, spare my aching sight!
Ye unborn ages, crowd not on my soul!
But Knowledge to their eyes her ample page,
Rich with the spoils of time, did ne'er unroll;
Chill penury repress'd their noble rage,
And froze the genial current of the soul.
Large was his bounty, and his soul sincere,
Heaven did a recompense as largely send:
He gave to mis'ry (all he had) a tear,
He gained from Heav'n ('t was all he wish'd) a friend.
Above the vulgar flight of common souls.
A poore soule sat sighing under a sycamore tree;
Oh willow, willow, willow!
With his hand on his bosom, his head on his knee,
Oh willow, willow, willow!
