252 quotes
Death is the crown of life;
Were death denyed, poor man would live in vain;
Were death denyed, to live would not be life;
Were death denyed, ev'n fools would wish to die.
Reason progressive, Instinct is complete;
Swift Instinct leaps; slow reason feebly climbs.
Brutes soon their zenith reach. * * * In ages they no more
Could know, do, covet or enjoy.
What folly can be ranker. Like our shadows,
Our wishes lengthen as our sun declines.
A Deity believed, is joy begun;
A Deity adored, is joy advanced;
A Deity beloved, is joy matured.
Each branch of piety delight inspires.
Though man sits still, and takes his ease,
God is at work on man;
No means, no moment unemploy'd,
To bless him, if he can.
Creation sleeps! 'Tis as the general pulse
Of life stood still, and Nature made a pause;
An awful pause! prophetic of her end.
Night-Thoughts (1742)
Final Ruin fiercely drives
Her plowshare o'er creation.
Night-Thoughts (1742)
Virtue alone has majesty in death.
Night-Thoughts (1742)
A God all mercy is a God unjust.
Night-Thoughts (1742)
Can wealth give happiness? look round and see
What gay distress! what splendid misery!
Whatever fortunes lavishly can pour,
The mind annihilates, and calls for more.
Youth is not rich in time; it may be poor;
Part with it as with money, sparing; pay
No moment but in purchase of its worth,
And what it's worth, ask death-beds; they can tell.
Learning we thank, Genius we revere: That gives us pleasure, This gives us rapture; That informs, This inspires; and is itself inspired; for genius is from heaven, learning from man.
Conjectures on Original Composition (1759)
For what are men who grasp at praise sublime,
But bubbles on the rapid stream of time,
That rise, and fall, that swell, and are no more,
Born, and forgot, ten thousand in an hour?
"I've lost a day!"—the prince who nobly cried,
Had been an emperor without his crown.
Night-Thoughts (1742)
Man wants little, nor that little long.
Night-Thoughts (1742)
O sacred solitude! divine retreat!
Choice of the prudent! envy of the great,
By thy pure stream, or in thy waving shade,
We court fair wisdom, that celestial maid.
A dearth of words a woman need not fear;
But 'tis a task indeed to learn to hear:
In that the skill of conversation lies;
That shows or makes you both polite and wise.
I've known my lady (for she loves a tune)
For fevers take an opera in June:
And, though perhaps you'll think the practice bold,
A midnight park is sov'reign for a cold.
How his eyes languish! how his thoughts adore
That painted coat, which Joseph never wore!
He shows, on holidays, a sacred pin.
That touch'd the ruff, that touched Queen Bess' chin.
'T is elder Scripture, writ by God's own hand,—
Scripture authentic! uncorrupt by man.
Night-Thoughts (1742)