Hard it is to teach the old horse to amble anew.
EDMUND SPENSERHer angel’s face, As the great eye of heaven shined bright, And made a sunshine in the shady place.
More Edmund Spenser Quotes
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For since mine eyes your joyous sight did miss, my cheerful day is turned to cheerless night.
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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Sweet breathing Zephyrus did softly play, A gentle spirit, that lightly did delay Hot Titan’s beams, which then did glister fair.
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Men, when their actions succeed not as they would, are always ready to impute the blame thereof to heaven, so as to excuse their own follies.
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And painful pleasure turns to pleasing pain.
EDMUND SPENSER -
She bathed with roses red, And violets blew. And all the sweetest flowers That in the forest grew.
EDMUND SPENSER -
Laws ought to be fashioned unto the manners and conditions of the people whom they are meant to benefit, and not imposed upon them according to the simple rule of right.
EDMUND SPENSER -
Beauty is not, as fond men misdeem, an outward show of things that only seem.
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Who would ever care to do brave deed, Or strive in virtue others to excel, If none should yield him his deserved meed Due praise, that is the spur of doing well? For if good were not praised more than ill, None would choose goodness of his own free will.
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The gentle mind by gentle deeds is known, For a man by nothing is so well betrayed As by his manners.
EDMUND SPENSER -
Good is no good, but if it be spend, God giveth good for none other end.
EDMUND SPENSER -
The gentle minde by gentle deeds is knowne.
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All that in this world is great or gay, Doth, as a vapor, vanish and decay.
EDMUND SPENSER -
Me 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.
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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