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Poor thieves in halters we behold And great thieves in their chains of gold.

Francis Quarles

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Francis Quarles
Age: 52 †
Born: 1592
Born: May 8
Died: 1644
Died: September 8
Author
Poet
Writer
Havering
Behold
Thieves
Chains
Gold
Poor
Great

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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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I'll ne'er distrust my God for cloth and bread while lilies flourish and the raven 's fed.
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Read not books alone, but men, and amongst them chiefly thyself.
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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.
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Be neither too early in the fashion, nor too long out of it, nor too precisely in it what custom hath civilized is become decent, till then ridiculous where the eye is the jury thy apparel is the evidence.
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He that hath no cross deserves no crown.
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Gold is Caesar's treasure, man is God's thy gold hath Caesar's image, and thou hast God's.
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My mind's my kingdom.
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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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Death aims with fouler spiteAt fairer marks.
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Wouldst thou multiply thy riches? diminish them wisely or wouldst thou make thy estate entire? divide it charitably. Seeds that are scattered increase but, hoarded up, they perish.
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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.
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No labor is hard, no time is long, wherein the glory of eternity is the mark we level at.
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The goods we spend we keep and what we save We lose and only what we lose we have.
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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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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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Nor fire, nor rocks, can stop our furious minds, Nor waves, nor winds.
Francis Quarles
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Whosoever obeyeth the devil, casteth himself down: for the devil may suggest, compel he cannot.
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.
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Meditation is the life of the soul: Action, the soul of meditation and honor the reward of action.
Francis Quarles