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The goods we spend we keep and what we save We lose and only what we lose we have.

Francis Quarles

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Francis Quarles
Age: 52 †
Born: 1592
Born: May 8
Died: 1644
Died: September 8
Author
Poet
Writer
Havering
Keep
Goods
Possession
Save
Spend
Lose
Loses

More quotes by Francis Quarles

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Let grace conduct thee to the paths of peace.
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Too much is a vanity enough is a feast.
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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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Heaven is never deaf but when man's heart is dumb.
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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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Wickedness is its own punishment.
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Be not too rash in the breaking of an inconvenient custom as it was gotten, so leave it by degrees. Danger attends upon too sudden alterations he that pulls down a bad building by the great may be ruined by the fall, but he that takes it down brick by brick may live to build a better.
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The strong desires of man's insatiate breast may stand possess'd Of all that earth can give but earth can give no rest.
Francis Quarles
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Knowledge descries wisdom applies.
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Every man's vanity ought to be his greatest shame and every man's folly ought to be his greatest secret.
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We sack, we ransack to the utmost sands Of native kingdoms, and of foreign lands: We travel sea and soil we pry, and prowl, We progress, and we prog from pole to pole.
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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
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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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If thy daughter marry well, thou hast found a son if not, thou hast lost a daughter.
Francis Quarles
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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.
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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Put off thy cares with thy clothes so shall thy rest strengthen thy labour, and so shall thy labour sweeten thy rest.
Francis Quarles
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My soul, sit thou a patient looker-on Judge not the play before the play is done: Her plot hath many changes every day Speaks a new scene the last act crowns the play
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.
Francis Quarles
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In giving of thy alms, inquire not so much into the person, as his necessity. God looks not so much upon the merits of him that requires, as into the manner of him that relieves if the man deserve not, thou hast given it to humanity.
Francis Quarles