Edmund Waller Quotes
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For all we know Of what the blessed do above Is, that they sing, and that they love. While I listen to thy Voice.
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Small is the worth Of beauty from the light retired: Bid her come forth, Suffer herself to be desired, And not blush so to be admired.
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The fear of God is freedom, joy, and peace; And makes all ills that vex us here to cease.
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Circle are praised, not that abound, In largeness, but the exactly round.
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Seeming devotion does but gild a knave, That's neither faithful, honest, just, nor brave; But where religion does with virtue join, It makes a hero like an angel shine.
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To man, that was in th' evening made, Stars gave the first delight; Admiring, in the gloomy shade, Those little drops of light.
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Happy the innocent whose equal thoughts are free from anguish as they are from faults.
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So must the writer, whose productions should Take with the vulgar, be of vulgar mould.
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Tea does our fancy aid, Repress those vapours which the head invade And keeps that palace of the soul serene.
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But virtue too, as well as vice, is clad in flesh and blood.
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Consent in virtue knit your hearts so fast, That still the knot, in spite of death, does last; For as your tears, and sorrow-wounded soul, Prove well that on your part this bond is whole, So all we know of what they do above, Is that they happy are, and that they love. Let dark oblivion, and the hollow grave, Content themselves our frailer thoughts to have; Well-chosen love is never taught to die, But with our nobler part invades the sky.
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And keeps the palace of the soul.
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Give us enough but with a sparing hand.
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Gods, that never change their state, vary oft their love and hate.
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Ingenious to their ruin, every age improves the art and instruments of rage.
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That eagle's fate and mine are one, Which, on the shaft that made him die, Espied a feather of his own, Wherewith he wont to soar so high.
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Fade, flowers, fade! Nature will have it so; 'tis but what we in our autumn do.
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The fear of Hell, or aiming to be blest, Savors too much of private interest. This moved not Moses, nor the zealous Paul, Who for their friends abandoned soul and all.
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To love is to believe, to hope, to know; 'Tis an essay, a taste of Heaven below!
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Poets that lasting marble seek, Must come in Latin or in Greek.
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The chain that's fixed to the throne of Jove, On which the fabric of our world depends, One link dissolved, the whole creation ends.
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With wisdom fraught; not such as books, but such as practice taught.
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The rising sun complies with our weak sight, First gilds the clouds, then shows his globe of light At such a distance from our eyes, as though He knew what harm his hasty beams would do.
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Under the tropic is our language spoke, And part of Flanders hath receiv'd our yoke.
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Virtue's a stronger guard than brass.
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He that alone would wise and mighty be,Commands that others love as well as he.Love as he lov'd! - How can we soar so high?-He can add wings when he commands to fly.Nor should we be with this command dismay'd;He that examples gives will give his aid:For he took flesh, that where his precepts fall,His practice, as a pattern, may prevail.
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The soul's dark cottage, batter'd and decay'd, Lets in new light through chinks that Time has made. Stronger by weakness, wiser men become As they draw near to their eternal home: Leaving the old, both worlds at once they view That stand upon the threshold of the new.
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My joy, my grief, my hope, my love, Did all within this circle move!
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What use of oaths, of promise, or of test, where men regard no God but interest?
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Happy is she that from the world retires, and carries with her what the world admires.
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