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Grief is itself a medicine.

William Cowper

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William Cowper
Age: 68 †
Born: 1731
Born: November 26
Died: 1800
Died: April 25
Hymnwriter
Poet
Poet Lawyer
Translator
Writer
Berkhamsted
Hertfordshire
Medicine
Grief
Sorrow
Loss
Sorrowful
Pain
Bereavement
Death
Grieving
Remedy
Cures

More quotes by William Cowper

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The parson knows enough who knows a Duke.
William Cowper
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How readily we wish time spent revoked, that we might try the ground again where once--through inexperience, as we now perceive--we missed that happiness we might have found!
William Cowper
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As if the world and they were hand and glove.
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When I thinkof my own native land, In a moment I seem to be there But alas! recollection at hand Soon hurries me back to despair.
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Pleasure admitted in undue degree, enslaves the will, nor leaves the judgment free.
William Cowper
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There goes the parson, oh illustrious spark! And there, scarce less illustrious, goes the clerk.
William Cowper
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How happy it is to believe, with a steadfast assurance, that our petitions are heard even while we are making them and how delightful to meet with a proof of it in the effectual and actual grant of them.
William Cowper
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Toil for the brave! The brave that are no more.
William Cowper
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A heretic, my dear sir, is a fellow who disagrees with you regarding something neither of you knows anything about.
William Cowper
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With spots quadrangular of diamond form, ensanguined hearts, clubs typical of strife, and spades, the emblems of untimely graves.
William Cowper
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Strange as it may seem, the most ludicrous lines I ever wrote have been written in the saddest mood.
William Cowper
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As creeping ivy clings to wood or stone, And hides the ruin that it feeds upon, So sophistry, cleaves close to, and protects Sin's rotten trunk, concealing its defects.
William Cowper
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Absence from whom we love is worse than death, and frustrates hope severer than despair.
William Cowper
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Thieves at home must hang but he that puts Into his overgorged and bloated purse The wealth of Indian provinces, escapes.
William Cowper
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Not a flower But shows some touch, in freckle, streak or stain, Of his unrivall'd pencil. He inspires Their balmy odors, and imparts their hues, And bathes their eyes with nectar, and includes In grains as countless as the seaside sands, The forms with which he sprinkles all the earth Happy who walks with him!
William Cowper
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'Tis liberty alone that gives the flower Of fleeting life its lustre and perfume And we are weeds without it.
William Cowper
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Some to the fascination of a name, Surrender judgment hoodwinked.
William Cowper
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The Frenchman, easy, debonair, and brisk, Give him his lass, his fiddle, and his frisk, Is always happy, reign whoever may, And laughs the sense of mis'ry far away.
William Cowper
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The things that mount the rostrum with a skip, And then skip down again, pronounce a text, Cry hem and reading what they never wrote Just fifteen minutes, huddle up their work, And with a well-bred whisper close the scene!
William Cowper
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A self-made man? Yes, and one who worships his creator.
William Cowper