Through knowledge we behold the world’s creation, How in his cradle first he fostered was; And judge of Nature’s cunning operation, How things she formed of a formless mass.
EDMUND SPENSERMe seems the world is run quite out of square,From the first point of his appointed source,And being once amiss grows daily worse and worse.
More Edmund Spenser Quotes
-
-
For whatsoever from one place doth fall, Is with the tide unto an other brought: For there is nothing lost, that may be found, if sought.
EDMUND SPENSER -
Sluggish idleness–the nurse of sin.
EDMUND SPENSER -
And he that strives to touch the stars Oft stumbles at a straw.
EDMUND SPENSER -
All sorts of flowers the which on earth do spring In goodly colours gloriously arrayed; Go to my love, where she is careless laid.
EDMUND SPENSER -
A circle cannot fill a triangle, so neither can the whole world, if it were to be compassed, the heart of man; a man may as easily fill a chest with grace as the heart with gold. The air fills not the body, neither doth money the covetous mind of man.
EDMUND SPENSER -
To be wise and eke to love, Is granted scarce to gods above.
EDMUND SPENSER -
This iron world bungs down the stoutest hearts to lowest state; for misery doth bravest minds abate.
EDMUND SPENSER -
The gentle minde by gentle deeds is knowne.
EDMUND SPENSER -
But angels come to lead frail minds to rest in chaste desires, on heavenly beauty bound. You frame my thoughts, and fashion me within; you stop my tongue, and teach my heart to speak.
EDMUND SPENSER -
Beauty is not, as fond men misdeem, an outward show of things that only seem.
EDMUND SPENSER -
The noblest mind the best contentment has.
EDMUND SPENSER -
All that in this world is great or gay, Doth, as a vapor, vanish and decay.
EDMUND SPENSER -
My Love is like to ice, and I to fire: How comes it then that this her cold so great Is not dissolved through my so hot desire, But harder grows the more I her entreat?
EDMUND SPENSER -
Fly from wrath; sad be the sights and bitter fruits of war; a thousand furies wait on wrathful swords.
EDMUND SPENSER -
Yet is there one more cursed than they all, That canker-worm, that monster, jealousie, Which eats the heart and feeds upon the gall, Turning all love’s delight to misery, Through fear of losing his felicity.
EDMUND SPENSER