Quote

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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Francis Quarles
Age: 52 †
Born: 1592
Born: May 8
Died: 1644
Died: September 8
Author
Poet
Writer
Havering
Ready
Ring
Dart
Wise
Hath
Notch
Death
Prepare
Notches
Hands
Rings
Aims
Heart
Wounds
Beware
Aim
Bows
Mark
Wound
Levels
Bent
Posting

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The average person's ear weighs what you are, not what you were.
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Death aims with fouler spiteAt fairer marks.
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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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In all thy actions think God sees thee and in all His actions labor to see Him that will make thee fear Him this will move thee to love Him the fear of God is the beginning of knowledge, and the knowledge of God is the perfection of love.
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The fountain of beauty is the heart and every generous thought illustrates the walls of your chamber.
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Proportion thy charity to the strength of thine estate, lest God proportion thine estate to the weakness of thy charity. Let the lips of the poor be the trumpet of thy gift, lest in seeking applause, thou lose thy reward. Nothing is more pleasing to God than an open hand and a closed mouth.
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Nothing is more pleasing to God than an open hand, and a closed mouth.
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Money is both the generation and corruption of purchased honor honor is both the child and slave of potent money: the credit which honor hath lost, money hath found. When honor grew mercenary, money grew honorable. The way to be truly noble is to contemn both.
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Let grace conduct thee to the paths of peace.
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My mind's my kingdom.
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Immortal life is something to be earned, By slow self-conquest, comradeship with Pain, And patient seeking after higher truths.
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Lust is a sharp spur to vice, which always putteth the affections into a false gallop.
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The World's a Printing-House, our words, our thoughts, Our deeds, are characters of several sizes. Each soul is a Compos'tor, of whose faults The Levites are Correctors Heaven Revises. Death is the common Press, from whence being driven, We're gather'd, Sheet by Sheet, and bound for Heaven.
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With a bloody flux of oaths vows deep revenge.
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O lust, thou infernal fire, whose fuel is gluttony whose flame is pride, whose sparkles are wanton words whose smoke is infamy whose ashes are uncleanness whose end is hell.
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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.
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Wrinkle not thy face with too much laughter, lest thou become ridiculous neither wanton thy heart with too much mirth, lest thou become vain: the suburbs of folly is vain mirth, and profuseness of laughter is the city of fools.
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God's pleasure is at the end of our prayers.
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If thou be rich, strive to command thy money, lest it command thee.
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The place of charity, like that of God, is everywhere.
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