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Let grace conduct thee to the paths of peace.

Francis Quarles

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Francis Quarles
Age: 52 †
Born: 1592
Born: May 8
Died: 1644
Died: September 8
Author
Poet
Writer
Havering
Path
Peace
Paths
Conduct
Thee
Grace

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Pleasures bring effeminacy, and effeminacy foreruns ruin such conquests, without blood or sweat, sufficiently do revenge themselves upon their intemperate conquerors.
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Tis not, to cry God mercy, or to sit And droop, or to confess that thou hast fail'd: 'Tis to bewail the sins thou didst commit: And not commit those sins thou hast bewail' d. He that bewails and not forsakes them too Confesses rather what he means to do.
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Afflictions clarify the soul And like hard masters, give more hard directions, Tutoring the non-age of uncurbed affections.
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Heav'n is not always got by running.
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In thy apparel avoid singularity, profuseness, and gaudiness. Be not too early in the fashion, nor too late. Decency is half way between affectation and neglect. The body is the shell of the soul, apparel is the husk of that shell the husk often tells you what the kernel is.
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Knowledge descries wisdom applies.
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My mind's my kingdom.
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Nor fire, nor rocks, can stop our furious minds, Nor waves, nor winds.
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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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If thy daughter marry well, thou hast found a son if not, thou hast lost a daughter.
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That friendship will not continue to the end which is begun for an end.
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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.
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To fear death is the way to live long to lie afraid of death is to be long a dying.
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Sin, when it is finished, bringeth forth death.
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Nothing is more pleasing to God than an open hand, and a closed mouth.
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Wickedness is its own punishment.
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Anger may repast with thee for an hour, but not repose for a night the continuance of anger is hatred, the continuance of hatred turns malice.
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Physicians, of all men, are most happy whatever good success soever they have, the world proclaimeth and what faults they commit, the earth covereth.
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He that hath no cross deserves no crown.
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For trash and toys, And grief-engend'ring joys, What torment seems too sharp for flesh and blood What bitter pills, Compos'd of real ills, Men swallow down to purchase one false good!
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