So passeth, in the passing of a day, Of mortal life the leaf, the bud, the flower.
EDMUND SPENSERI was promised on a time To have reason for my rhyme; From that time unto this season, I received nor rhyme nor reason.
More Edmund Spenser Quotes
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Such is the power of love in gentle mind, That it can alter all the course of kind.
EDMUND SPENSER -
Discord oft in music makes the sweeter lay.
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Woe to the man that first did teach the cursed steel to bite in his own flesh, and make way to the living spirit!
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The gentle minde by gentle deeds is knowne.
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Full little knowest thou that hast not tried, What hell it is in suing long to bide: To loose good dayes, that might be better spent; To waste long nights in pensive discontent; To speed to-day, to be put back to-morrow; To feed on hope, to pine with feare and sorrow.
EDMUND SPENSER -
To be wise and eke to love, Is granted scarce to gods above.
EDMUND SPENSER -
The gentle mind by gentle deeds is known, For a man by nothing is so well betrayed As by his manners.
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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.
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For deeds to die, however nobly done, And thoughts of men to as themselves decay, But wise words taught in numbers for to run, Recorded by the Muses, live for ay.
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For easy things, that may be got at will, Most sorts of men do set but little store.
EDMUND SPENSER -
Good is no good, but if it be spend, God giveth good for none other end.
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.
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Those that were up themselves, kept others low; Those that were low themselves, held others hard; He suffered them to ryse or greater grow; But every one did strive his fellow down to throw.
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Fondnesse it were for any being free, To covet fetters, though they golden bee.
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Fly from wrath; sad be the sights and bitter fruits of war; a thousand furies wait on wrathful swords.
EDMUND SPENSER