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Rising glory occasions the greatest envy, as kindling fire the greatest smoke.

Edmund Spenser

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Edmund Spenser
Died: 1599
Died: January 13
Poet
Translator
London
England
Edmund Spencer
Rising
Envy
Smoke
Glory
Greatest
Fire
Kindling
Occasions

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Make haste therefore, sweet love, whilst it is prime, For none can call again the passed time.
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For next to Death is Sleepe to be compared Therefore his house is unto his annext: Here Sleepe, ther Richesse, and hel-gate them both betwext.
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Sweet breathing Zephyrus did softly play, A gentle spirit, that lightly did delay Hot Titan's beams, which then did glister fair
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At last, the golden orientall gate Of greatest heaven gan to open fayre, And Phoebus, fresh as brydegrome to his mate, Came dauncing forth, shaking his dewie hayre And hurls his glistring beams through gloomy ayre.
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A circle cannot fill a triangle, so neither can the whole world, if it were to be compassed, the heart of man a man may as easily fill a chest with grace as the heart with gold. The air fills not the body, neither doth money the covetous mind of man.
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Men, when their actions succeed not as they would, are always ready to impute the blame thereof to heaven, so as to excuse their own follies.
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Waking love suffereth no sleepe: Say, that raging love dothe appall the weake stomacke: Say, that lamenting love marreth the musicall.
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Greatest god below the sky.
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The fish once caught, new bait will hardly bite.
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Ill seemes (sayd he) if he so valiant be, That he should be so sterne to stranger wight For seldom yet did living creature see That courtesie and manhood ever disagree.
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For all that faire is, is by nature goodThat is a signe to know the gentle blood.
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Foul jealousy! that turnest love divine to joyless dread, and makest the loving heart with hateful thoughts to languish and to pine.
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Hard it is to teach the old horse to amble anew.
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Thankfulness is the tune of angels.
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Fly from wrath sad be the sights and bitter fruits of war a thousand furies wait on wrathful swords.
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Unhappie Verse, the witnesse of my unhappie state, Make thy selfe fluttring wings of thy fast flying Thought
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For evil deeds may better than bad words be borne.
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Dan Chaucer, well of English undefyled,On Fames eternall beadroll worthie to be fyled.
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Gather the rose of love whilst yet is time.
Edmund Spenser
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Man's wretched state, That floures so fresh at morne, and fades at evening late.
Edmund Spenser