103 quotes
They who are pleased themselves must always please.
The Castle of Indolence (1748)
He ceased; but still their trembling ears retained
The deep vibrations of his witching song.
The Castle of Indolence (1748)
O fair undress, best dress! it checks no vein,
But every flowing limb in pleasure drowns,
And heightens ease with grace.
The Castle of Indolence (1748)
Why should we kill the best of passions, love?
It aids the hero, bids ambition rise
To nobler heights, inspires immortal deeds,
Even softens brutes, and adds a grace to virtue.
More firm and sure the hand of courage strikes, when it obeys the watchful eye of caution.
But what most showed the vanity of life
Was to behold the nations all on fire.
The Castle of Indolence (1748)
Whoe'er amidst the sons
Of reason, valor, liberty, and virtue
Displays distinguished merit, is a noble
Of Nature's own creating.
Ships, dim discover'd, dropping from the clouds.
A little, round, fat, oily man of God.
The Castle of Indolence (1748)
The best of men have ever loved repose:
They hate to mingle in the filthy fray;
Where the soul sours, and gradual rancour grows,
Imbitter'd more from peevish day to day.
The Castle of Indolence (1748)
Thither the houshold feathery people crowd,
The crested cock, with all his female train.
Age too shines out: and, garrulous, recounts the feats of youth.
The Seasons (1726)
Flocks thick-nibbling through the clovered vale.
The Seasons (1726)
Who stemm'd the torrent of a downward age.
The Seasons (1726)
A bard here dwelt, more fat than bard becomes
Who void of envy, guile and lust of gain,
On virtue still and nature's pleasing themes
Poured forth his unpremeditated strain.
The Castle of Indolence (1748)
For, if the worlds
In worlds enclosed should on his senses burst * * *
He would abhorrent turn.
The glad circle round them yield their souls
To festive mirth, and wit that knows no gall.
Some to the holly hedge
Nestling repair; and to the thicket some;
Some to the rude protection of the thorn.
Real glory
Springs from the silent conquest of ourselves; and without that the conqueror is nought but the first slave.
Among the crooked lanes, on every hedge,
The glow-worm lights his gem; and through the dark,
A moving radiance twinkles.
The Seasons (1726)