Summe up at night what thou hast done by day; And in the morning what thou hast to do. Dresse and undresse thy soul; mark the decay And growth of it; if, with thy watch, that too Be down then winde up both; since we shall be Most surely judg’d, make thy accounts agree.
GEORGE HERBERTIn solitude, be a multitude to thyself. Tibullus by all means use sometimes to be alone.
More George Herbert Quotes
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Religion, Credit, and the Eye are not to be touched.
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We live in an age that hath more need of good example than precepts.
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That flesh is but the glasse, which holds the dust That measures all our time; which also shall Be crumbled into dust.
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To seek these things is lost labour; Geese in an oyle pot, fat Hogs among Jews, and Wine in a fishing net.
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Sundays observe; think when the bells do chime, ‘T is angels’ music.
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The dog gnawes the bone because he cannot swallow it.
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Reason lies betweene the spurre and the bridle. [Reason lies between the spur and the bridle.]
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He that riseth betimes hath some thing in his head.
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A Caske and an ill custome must be broken.
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A little labour, much health.
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Weening is not measure.
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Hee that gets out of debt, growes rich.
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The Italians are wise before the deede, the Germanes in the deede, the French after the deede. [The Italians are wise before the deed, the Germens in the deed, the French after the deed.]
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Whether goest, griefe? where I am wont.
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A dead Bee maketh no Hony.
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He that sings on friday, will weepe on Sunday.
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He puls with a long rope, that waits for anothers death.
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The best smell is bread; the best saver, salt; the best love, that of children.
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If folly were griefe every house would weepe. [If folly were grief, every house would weep.]
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When you enter into a house, leave the anger ever at the doore.
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A married man turns his staffe into a stake.
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None knows the weight of another’s burden.
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The way is an ill neighbour.
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The miserable man makes a peny of a farthing, and the liberall of a farthing sixe pence. [The miserable man maketh a penny of a farthing, and the liberal of a farthing sixpence.]
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All our pompe the earth covers.
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Shall I, to please another wine-sprung minde, Lose all mine own? God hath giv’n me a measure Short of His can and body; must I find A pain in that, wherein he finds a pleasure?
GEORGE HERBERT