Best 311 quotes of William Cowper on MyQuotes

Skins may differ, but affection Dwells in white and black the same.

Slaves cannot breathe in England; if their lungs Receive our air, that moment they are free; They touch our country, and their shackles fall.

...So let us welcome peaceful evening in.

Solitude, seeming a sanctuary, proves a grave; a sepulchre in which the living lie, where all good qualities grow sick and die

Some drill and bore The solid earth, and from the strata there Extract a register, by which we learn, That he who made it, and reveal'd its date To Moses, was mistaken in its age.

Some men make gain a fountain, whence proceeds A stream of liberal and heroic deeds; The swell of pity, not to be confined Within the scanty limits of the mind.

Some people are more nice than wise.

Some to the fascination of a name, Surrender judgment hoodwinked.

Some write a narrative of wars and feats, Of heroes little known, and call the rant A history.

Spare feast! a radish and an egg.

Spring hangs her infant blossoms on the trees, Rock'd in the cradle of the western breeze.

Stamps God's own name upon a lie just made, To turn a penny in the way of trade.

Still ending, and beginning still.

Strange as it may seem, the most ludicrous lines I ever wrote have been written in the saddest mood.

Strength may wield the ponderous spade, May turn the clod, and wheel the compost home; But elegance, chief grace the garden shows, And most attractive, is the fair result Of thought, the creature of a polished mind.

Tea - the cups that cheer but not inebriate.

Ten thousand casks, Forever dribbling out their base contents, Touch'd by the Midas finger of the state, Bleed gold for ministers to sport away. Drink, and be mad then; 'tis your country bids!

That good diffused may more abundant grow.

The art of poetry is to touch the passions, and its duty to lead them on the side of virtue.

The bird that flutters least is longest on the wing.

The bud may have a bitter taste, But sweet will be the flower.

The cares of today are seldom those of tomorrow.

The Cross! There, and there only (though the deist rave, and the atheist, if Earth bears so base a slave); There and there only, is the power to save.

The darkest day, if you live till tomorrow, will have passed away.

The dogs did bark, the children screamed, Up flew the windows all; And every soul bawled out, Well done! As loud as he could bawl.

The earth was made so various, that the mind Of desultory man, studious of change, And pleased with novelty, might be indulged.

The fall of waters and the song of birds, And hills that echo to the distant berds, Are luxuries excelling all the glare The world can boast, and her chief favorites share.

The few that pray at all pray oft amiss.

The innocent seldom find an uncomfortable pillow.

The kindest and the happiest pair Will find occasion to forbear; And something, every day they live, To pity, and perhaps forgive.

Th' embroid'ry of poetic dreams.

The man that dares traduce, because he can with safety to himself, is not a man.

The man to solitude accustom'd long, Perceives in everything that lives a tongue; Not animals alone, but shrubs and trees Have speech for him, and understood with ease, After long drought when rains abundant fall, He hears the herbs and flowers rejoicing all.

The mind, relaxing into needful sport, Should turn to writers of an abler sort, Whose wit well managed, and whose classic style, Give truth a lustre, and make wisdom smile.

Then liberty, like day, Breaks on the soul, and by a flash from Heaven Fires all the faculties with glorious joy.

The nurse sleeps sweetly, hired to watch the sick, / whom, snoring, she disturbs.

The only amaranthine flower on earth is virtue; the only lasting treasure, truth.

The only amarantine flower on earth Is virtue.

The parable of the prodigal son, the most beautiful fiction that ever was invented; our Saviour's speech to His disciples, with which He closed His earthly ministrations, full of the sublimest dignity and tenderest affection, surpass everything that I ever read; and like the spirit by which they were dictated, fly directly to the heart.

The parson knows enough who knows a Duke.

The path of sorrow, and that path alone, leads to the land where sorrow is unknown.

The proud are ever most provoked by pride.

There goes the parson, oh illustrious spark! And there, scarce less illustrious, goes the clerk.

There is a mixture of evil in everything we do; indulgence encourages us to encroach, while we Crabbe exercise the rights of children, we become childish.

There is a pleasure in poetic pains / Which only poets know.

There is in souls a sympathy with sounds: And as the mind is pitch'd the ear is pleased With melting airs, or martial, brisk or grave; Some chord in unison with what we hear Is touch'd within us, and the heart replies.

There is in souls a sympathy with sounds.

There is mercy in every place. And mercy, encouraging thought gives even affliction a grace and reconciles man to his lot.

The rich are too indolent, the poor too weak, to bear the insupportable fatigue of thinking.

The slaves of custom and established mode, With pack-horse constancy we keep the road Crooked or straight, through quags or thorny dells, True to the jingling of our leader's bells.