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The world in all doth but two nations bear- The good, the bad and these mixed everywhere.

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
Everywhere
Bears
Nations
Two
Good
World
Doth
Mixed
Bear

More quotes by Andrew Marvell

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What wondrous life is this I lead! Ripe apples drop about my head.
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See how the Orient dew, Shed from the bosom of the morn Into the blowing roses, Yet careless of its mansion new For the clear region where 'twas born Round in its self encloses: And in its little globes extent, Frames as it can its native element.
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But at my back I always hear Time's winged chariot hurrying near.
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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.
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And yonder all before us lie Deserts of vast eternity.
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I have a garden of my own, But so with roses overgrown, And lilies, that you would it guess To be a little wilderness.
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Annihilating all that's made, To a green thought in a green shade.
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How fit he is to sway That can so well obey.
Andrew Marvell
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Ye country comets, that portend No war, nor prince's funeral, Shining unto no higher end Than to presage the grasses fall. . . .
Andrew Marvell
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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.
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Let us roll all our strength, and all Our sweetness, up into one ball: And tear our pleasures with rough strife, Through the iron gates of life. Thus, though we cannot make our sun Stand still, yet we will make him run.
Andrew Marvell
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As lines, so loves oblique, may well Themselves in every angle greet But ours, so truly parallel, Though infinite, can never meet.
Andrew Marvell
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My love is of a birth as rare As 'tis, for object, strange and high It was begotten by Despair Upon Impossibility.
Andrew Marvell
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Music, the mosaic of the air.
Andrew Marvell
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How vainly men themselves amaze, / To win the palm, the oak, or bays / And their incessant labours see / Crowned from some single herb or tree.
Andrew Marvell
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My vegetable love should grow Vaster than empires, and more slow.
Andrew Marvell
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He nothing common did, or mean, / Upon that memorable scene, / But with his keener eye / The axe's edge did try.
Andrew Marvell
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Art indeed is long, but life is short.
Andrew Marvell
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No white nor red was ever seen So am'rous as this lovely green. Fond lovers, cruel as their flame, Cut in these trees their mistress' name. Little, alas, they know or heed How far these beauties hers exceed! Fair trees! where s'e'er your barks I wound, No name shall but your own be found.
Andrew Marvell
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Like the vain curlings of the watery maze, Which in smooth streams a sinking weight does raise, So Man, declining always, disappears In the weak circles of increasing years And his short tumults of themselves compose, While flowing Time above his head does close.
Andrew Marvell