Quote

A fretful temper will divide the closest knot that may be tied, by ceaseless sharp corrosion a temper passionate and fierce may suddenly your joys disperse at one immense explosion.

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
Closest
Explosion
Immense
Knots
Temper
Explosions
Tied
Divide
Corrosion
Suddenly
Joys
Fretful
Passionate
Divides
Disperse
Joy
Sharp
Ceaseless
May
Fierce
Knot

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All zeal for a reform, that gives offence To peace and charity, is mere pretence.
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Knowledge is proud that it knows so much wisdom is humble that it knows no more.
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No wisdom that she may gain by experience and reflection hereafter, will compensate the loss of her present hilarity.
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The bird that flutters least is longest on the wing.
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But truths on which depends our main concern, That 'tis our shame and misery not to learn, Shine by the side of every path we tread With such a lustre he that runs may read.
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Ages elapsed ere Homer's lamp appear'd, And ages ere the Mantuan swan was heard: To carry nature lengths unknown before, To give a Milton birth, ask'd ages more.
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And diff'ring judgments serve but to declare that truth lies somewhere, if we knew but where.
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As if the world and they were hand and glove.
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The innocent seldom find an uncomfortable pillow.
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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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The art of poetry is to touch the passions, and its duty to lead them on the side of virtue.
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Built God a church and laughed His word to scorn.
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This cabin, Mary, in my sight appears, Built as it has been in our waning years, A rest afforded to our weary feet, Preliminary to - the last retreat.
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Happy the man who sees a God employed in all the good and ills that checker life.
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In man or woman, but far most in man, And most of all in man that ministers, And serves the altar, in my soul I loathe All affectation. 'Tis my perfect scorn: Object of my implacable disgust.
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Skins may differ, but affection Dwells in white and black the same.
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Those flimsy webs that break as soon as wrought, attain not to the dignity of thought.
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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!
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Lived in his saddle, loved the chase, the course, And always, ere he mounted, kiss'd his horse.
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Necessity invented stools, Convenience next suggested elbow-chairs, And luxury the accomplish'd Sofa last.
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