Quote

Man to the last is but a froward child So eager for the future, come what may, And to the present so insensible.

Samuel Rogers

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Samuel Rogers
Age: 92 †
Born: 1763
Born: July 30
Died: 1855
Died: December 18
Banker
Poet
Writer
Author of an Ode to superstition
S Rogers
Saml Rogers
Children
Childhood
Men
Present
Child
Lasts
Last
Future
May
Insensible
Come
Eager

More quotes by Samuel Rogers

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Every day a little life, a blank to be inscribed with gentle thoughts.
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Lull'd in the countless chambers of the brain, Our thoughts are link'd by many a hidden chain Awake but one, and lo, what myriads rise! Each stamps its image as the other flies!
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By many a temple half as old as Time.
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Go! you may call it madness, folly You shall not chase my gloom away! There 's such a charm in melancholy I would not if I could be gay.
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Then never less alone than when alone.
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Mine be a cot beside the hill A bee-hive's hum shall soothe my ear A willowy brook, that turns a mill, With many a fall shall linger near.
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I lived to write, and wrote to live.
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Women have the understanding of the heart, which is better than that of the head.
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When a new book is published, read an old one.
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Fireside happiness, to hours of ease Blest with that charm, the certainty to please.
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The hour arrives, the moment wish'd and fear'd, The child is born by many a pang endear'd And now the mother's ear has caught his cry O grant the cherub to her asking eye! He comes--she clasps him. To her bosom press'd He drinks the balm of life, and drops to rest.
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I am in Rome! Oft as the morning ray Visits these eyes, waking at once I cry, Whence this excess of joy? What has befallen me? And from within a thrilling voice replies, Thou art in Rome! A thousand busy thoughts Rush on my mind, a thousand images And I spring up as girt to run a race!
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Example is a motive of very prevailing force on the actions of men.
Samuel Rogers
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Sweet Memory! wafted by thy gentle gale, Oft up the stream of Time I turn my sail.
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A man who attempts to read all the new productions must do as the flea does,--skip.
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To vanish in the chinks that Time has made.
Samuel Rogers
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I came to the place of my birth and cried: The friends of my youth, where are they?--and an echo answered, Where are they?
Samuel Rogers
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Twilight's soft dews steal o'er the village-green, With magic tints to harmonize the scene. Stilled is the hum that through the hamlet broke When round the ruins of their ancient oak The peasants flocked to hear the minstrel play, And games and carols closed the busy day.
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The soul of music slumbers in the shell Till waked and kindled by the master's spell And feeling hearts, touch them but rightly, pour A thousand melodies unheard before!
Samuel Rogers
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When with care we have raised an imaginary treasure of happiness, we find at last that the materials of the structure are frail and perishing, and the foundation itself is laid in the sand.
Samuel Rogers