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Art indeed is long, but life is short.
Andrew Marvell
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Andrew Marvell
Age: 57 †
Born: 1621
Born: March 31
Died: 1678
Died: August 16
Poet
Politician
Satirist
Writer
Andrew Marvell
Life
Indeed
Short
Art
Long
More quotes by Andrew Marvell
Had we but world enough, and time, this coyness, lady, were no crime.
Andrew Marvell
The world in all doth but two nations bear- The good, the bad and these mixed everywhere.
Andrew Marvell
What wondrous life is this I lead! Ripe apples drop about my head.
Andrew Marvell
As lines, so loves oblique, may well Themselves in every angle greet But ours, so truly parallel, Though infinite, can never meet.
Andrew Marvell
Though I carry always some ill-nature about me, yet it is, I hope, no more than is in this world necessary for a preservative.
Andrew Marvell
My love is of a birth as rare As 'tis, for object, strange and high It was begotten by Despair Upon Impossibility.
Andrew Marvell
What wondrous life is this I lead! Ripe apples drop about my head The luscious clusters of the vine Upon my mouth do crush their wine The nectarine and curious peach Into my hands themselves do reach Stumbling on melons, as I pass, Ensnared with flowers, I fall on grass.
Andrew Marvell
Gather the flowers, but spare the buds.
Andrew Marvell
This indigested vomit of the Sea,Fell to the Dutch by Just Propriety.
Andrew Marvell
But at my back I always hear Time's winged chariot hurrying near.
Andrew Marvell
Therefore the love which us doth bind, But fate so enviously debars, Is the conjunction of the mind, And opposition of the stars.
Andrew Marvell
How fit he is to sway That can so well obey.
Andrew Marvell
Had we but world enough, and time, This coyness Lady were no crime. We would sit down, and think which way To walk, and pass our long love's day. Thou by the Indian Ganges'side Shouldst rubies find: I by the tide Of Humber would complain. I would Love you ten years before the flood.
Andrew Marvell
Self-preservation, nature's first great law, all the creatures, except man, doth awe.
Andrew Marvell
How could such sweet and wholesome hours be reckoned, but in herbs and flowers?
Andrew Marvell
And now, when I have summed up all my store, Thinking (so I myself deceive) So rich a chaplet thence to weave As never yet the King of Glory wore, Alas! I find the serpent old, That, twining in his speckled breast, About the flowers disguised does fold With wreaths of fame and interest.
Andrew Marvell
How vainly men themselves amaze To win the palm, the oak, or bays And their uncessant labours see Crown'd from some single herb or tree. Whose short and narrow verged shade Does prudently their toils upbraid While all flow'rs and all trees do close To weave the garlands of repose.
Andrew Marvell
Ye country comets, that portend No war, nor prince's funeral, Shining unto no higher end Than to presage the grasses fall. . . .
Andrew Marvell
Music, the mosaic of the air.
Andrew Marvell
Thus, though we cannot make our sun Stand still, yet we will make him run
Andrew Marvell