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Is not this lily pure? What fuller can procure A white so perfect, spotless clear As in this flower doth appear?

Francis Quarles

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Francis Quarles
Age: 52 †
Born: 1592
Born: May 8
Died: 1644
Died: September 8
Author
Poet
Writer
Havering
Clear
Procure
Perfect
Lily
White
Fuller
Lilies
Doth
Appear
Flower
Pure
Spotless

More quotes by Francis Quarles

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Things temporal are sweeter in the expectation, things eternal are sweeter in the fruition the first shames thy hope, the second crowns it it is a vain journey, whose end affords less pleasure than the way.
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Heaven is never deaf but when man's heart is dumb.
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Virtue is nothing but an act of loving that which is to be beloved, and that act is prudence, from whence not to be removed by constraint is fortitude not to be allured by enticements is temperance not to be diverted by pride is justice.
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Blessedness is promised to the peacemaker, not to the conqueror.
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Mercy turns her back to the unmerciful.
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My mind's my kingdom.
Francis Quarles
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It is no happiness to live long, nor unhappiness to die soon happy is he that hath lived long enough to die well.
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Reason can discover things only near,--sees nothing that's above her.
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Shine Son of glory, and my sinnes are goneLike twinkling Starres before the rising Sunne.
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Meditation is the life of the soul: Action, the soul of meditation and honor the reward of action.
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O who would trust this world, or prize what's in it, That gives and takes, and chops and changes, ev'ry minute?
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False world, thou ly'st: thou canst not lend The least delight: Thy favours cannot gain a friend, They are so slight.
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I'll ne'er distrust my God for cloth and bread while lilies flourish and the raven 's fed.
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See, here's a shadow found the human nature Is made th' umbrella to the Deity, To catch the sunbeams of thy just Creator Beneath this covert thou may'st safely lie.
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As there is no worldly gain without some loss, so there is no worldly loss without some gain.... Set the allowance against the loss, and thou shalt find no loss great.
Francis Quarles
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Mark, how the ready hands of Death prepare: His bow is bent, and he hath notch'd his dart He aims, he levels at thy slumb'ring heart: The wound is posting, O be wise, beware.
Francis Quarles
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Knowledge descries wisdom applies.
Francis Quarles
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Think not thy love to God merits God's love to thee His acceptance of thy duty crowns His own gifts in thee man's love to God is nothing but a faint reflection of God's love to man.
Francis Quarles
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Wickedness is its own punishment.
Francis Quarles
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He that discovers himself, till he hath made himself master of his desires, lays himself open to his own ruin, and makes himself prisoner to his own tongue.
Francis Quarles