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[My kitten's] gambols are not to be described, and would be incredible, if they could.

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
Kitten
Described
Incredible
Cat
Would

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There is in souls a sympathy with sounds.
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Accomplishments have taken virtue's place, and wisdom falls before exterior grace.
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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!
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How shall I speak thee, or thy power address Thou God of our idolatry, the Press. . . . . Like Eden's dead probationary tree, Knowledge of good and evil is from thee.
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Still ending, and beginning still.
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A self-made man? Yes, and one who worships his creator.
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The innocent seldom find an uncomfortable pillow.
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A glory gilds the sacred page, Majestic like the sun, It gives a light to every age, It gives, but borrows none.
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Those flimsy webs that break as soon as wrought, attain not to the dignity of thought.
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Solitude, seeming a sanctuary, proves a grave a sepulchre in which the living lie, where all good qualities grow sick and die
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The art of poetry is to touch the passions, and its duty to lead them on the side of virtue.
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Acquaint thyself with God, if thou would'st taste His works. Admitted once to his embrace, Thou shalt perceive that thou was blind before: Thine eye shall be instructed and thine heart Made pure shall relish with divine delight Till then unfelt, what hands divine have wrought.
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Lights of the world, and stars of human race.
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Our love is principle, and has its root In reason, is judicious, manly, free.
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Skins may differ, but affection Dwells in white and black the same.
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When scandal has new-minted an old lie, Or tax'd invention for a fresh supply, 'Tis call'd a satire, and the world appears Gathering around it with erected ears A thousand names are toss'd into the crowd, Some whisper'd softly, and some twang'd aloud, Just as the sapience of an author's brain, Suggests it safe or dangerous to be plain.
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The darkest day, if you live till tomorrow, will have passed away.
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I am out of humanity's reach.
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Pernicious weed! whose scent the fair annoys, Unfriendly to society's chief joys: Thy worst effect is banishing for hours The sex whose presence civilizes ours.
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Spare feast! a radish and an egg.
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