The thirsty earth soaks up the rain, And drinks, and gapes for drink again; The plants suck in the earth, and are With constant drinking fresh and fair
His faith perhaps in some nice tenets might Be wrong; his life, I'm sure, was always in the right
Life is an incurable disease
A mighty pain to love it is, and 'tis a pain that pain to miss; but of all the pains, the greatest pain is to love, but love in vain.
The world's a scene of changes, and to be Constant, in Nature were inconstancy
Solitude can be used well by very few people. They who do must have a knowledge of the world to see the foolishness of it, and enough virtue to despise all the vanity.
I would not fear nor wish my fate, but boldly say each night, to-morrow let my sun his beams display, or in clouds hide them; I have lived today.
This only grant me, that my means may lie too low for envy, for contempt too high
Hail, old patrician trees, so great and good!
We may talk as we please of lilies, and lions rampant, and spread eagles in fields of d'or or d'argent, but if heraldry were guided by reason, a plough in the field arable would be the most noble and ancient arms
Thus each extreme to equal danger tends, Plenty, as well as Want, can sep'rate friends
Curiosity does, no less than devotion, pilgrims make
May I a small house and large garden have;And a few friends,And many books, both true.
What shall I do to be for ever known,And make the age to come my own?
A mighty pain to love it is,And 'tis a pain that pain to miss;But of all pains, the greatest painIt is to love, but love in vain.
His faith, perhaps, in some nice tenets might Be wrong; his life, I 'm sure, was in the right.
Thus would I double my life's fading space; For he that runs it well, runs twice his race.
Th' adorning thee with so much art Is but a barb'rous skill; 'T is like the pois'ning of a dart, Too apt before to kill.
We spent them not in toys, in lusts, or wine, But search of deep philosophy, Wit, eloquence, and poetry; Arts which I lov'd, for they, my friend, were thine.
Beauty, thou wild fantastic ape Who dost in every country change thy shape!
His time is forever, everywhere his place.
What shall I do to be forever known, And make the age to come my own?
To be a husbandman, is but a retreat from the city; to be a philosopher, from the world; or rather, a retreat from the world, as it is man's, into the world, as it is God's.
Fill all the glasses there, for why Should every creature drink but I? Why, man of morals, tell me why?
Lukewarmness I account a sin, as great in love as in religion.