Solitude, seeming a sanctuary, proves a grave; a sepulchre in which the living lie, where all good qualities grow sick and die
WILLIAM COWPERThe darkest day, if you live till tomorrow, will have passed away.
More William Cowper Quotes
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Heaven’s harmony is universal love.
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Pleasure is labour too, and tires as much.
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The only amaranthine flower on earth is virtue; the only lasting treasure, truth.
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The kindest and the happiest pair Will find occasion to forbear; And something, every day they live, To pity, and perhaps forgive.
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Nature is a good name for an effect whose cause is God.
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Variety’s the very spice of life, That gives it all its flavor.
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And works his sovereign will. Ye fearful saints fresh courage take, The clouds ye so much dread Are big with mercy, and shall break In blessings on your head.
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Truth is the golden girdle of the globe.
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A heretic, my dear sir, is a fellow who disagrees with you regarding something neither of you knows anything about.
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England with all thy faults, I love thee still– My country! and, while yet a nook is left Where English minds and manners may be found, Shall be constrained to love thee.
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We turn to dust, and all our mightiest works die too.
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Remorse, the fatal egg by pleasure laid, In every bosom where her nest is made, Hatched by the beams of truth, denies him rest, And proves a raging scorpion in his breast.
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There is a pleasure in poetic pains / Which only poets know.
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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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God moves in a mysterious way, His wonders to perform. He plants his footsteps in the sea, and rides upon the storm.
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How sweet, how passing sweet, is solitude! But grant me still a friend in my retreat, whom I may whisper, solitude is sweet.
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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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The still small voice is wanted.
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Absence from whom we love is worse than death, and frustrates hope severer than despair.
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The innocent seldom find an uncomfortable pillow.
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Maintains its hold with such unfailing sway, We feel it e’en in age, and at our latest day.
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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.
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Satan trembles when he sees the weakest saint upon their knees.
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The Cross! There, and there only (though the deist rave, and the atheist, if Earth bears so base a slave); There and there only, is the power to save.
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The man to solitude accustom’d long, Perceives in everything that lives a tongue; Not animals alone, but shrubs and trees Have speech for him, and understood with ease,
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The proud are ever most provoked by pride.
WILLIAM COWPER