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A fool must now and then be right, by chance

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
Must
Folly
Humorous
Intelligence
Intellectual
Fool
Chance
Truth
Right
Statistics

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England, with all thy faults I love thee still, My country!
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Learning itself, received into a mind By nature weak, or viciously inclined, Serves but to lead philosophers astray, Where children would with ease discern the way.
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The only amaranthine flower on earth is virtue the only lasting treasure, truth.
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Unless a love of virtue light the flame, Satire is, more than those he brands, to blame He hides behind a magisterial air He own offences, and strips others' bare.
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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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Domestic happiness, thou only bliss Of paradise that has surviv'd the fall!
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She that asks Her dear five hundred friends, contemns them all, And hates their coming.
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Good sense, good health, good conscience, and good fame,--all these belong to virtue, and all prove that virtue has a title to your love.
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A self-made man? Yes, and one who worships his creator.
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How sweet, how passing sweet, is solitude! But grant me still a friend in my retreat, whom I may whisper, solitude is sweet.
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A story, in which native humour reigns, Is often useful, always entertains A graver fact, enlisted on your side, May furnish illustration, well applied But sedentary weavers of long tales Give me the fidgets, and my patience fails.
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Th' embroid'ry of poetic dreams.
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The spleen is seldom felt where Flora reigns The low'ring eye, the petulance, the frown, And sullen sadness, that o'ershade, distort, And mar the face of beauty, when no cause For such immeasurable woe appears These Flora banishes, and gives the fair Sweet smiles, and bloom less transient than her own.
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A heretic, my dear sir, is a fellow who disagrees with you regarding something neither of you knows anything about.
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Religion Caesar never knew Thy posterity shall sway, Where his eagles never flew, None as invincible as they.
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There is in souls a sympathy with sounds: And as the mind is pitch'd the ear is pleased With melting airs, or martial, brisk or grave Some chord in unison with what we hear Is touch'd within us, and the heart replies.
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There is a mixture of evil in everything we do indulgence encourages us to encroach, while we Crabbe exercise the rights of children, we become childish.
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No traveler e'er reached that blest abode who found not thorns and briers in his road.
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Gardening imparts an organic perspective on the passage of time.
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Ye therefore who love mercy, teach your sons to love it, too.
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