Quote

What peaceful hours I once enjoy'd! How sweet their memory still! But they have left an aching void The world can never fill.

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
Still
Peaceful
Never
Memory
World
Sweet
Memories
Hours
Enjoy
Aching
Left
Void
Stills
Fill

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But still remember, if you mean to please, To press your point with modesty and ease.
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Absence of proof is not proof of absence.
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The path of sorrow, and that path alone, leads to the land where sorrow is unknown.
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I pity them greatly, but I must be mum, for how could we do without sugar and rum?
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And the tear that is wiped with a little address, May be follow'd perhaps by a smile.
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Dejection of spirits, which may have prevented many a man from becoming an author, made me one. I find constant employment necessary, and therefore take care to be constantly employed. . . . When I can find no other occupation, I think and when I think, I am very apt to do it in rhyme.
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Made poetry a mere mechanic art.
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Remorse, the fatal egg by pleasure laid, In every bosom where her nest is made, Hatched by the beams of truth, denies him rest, And proves a raging scorpion in his breast.
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The solemn fop significant and budge A fool with judges, amongst fools a judge
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Far happier are the dead methinks than they who look for death and fear it every day.
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It chills my blood to hear the blest Supreme Rudely appealed to on each trifling theme.
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Pleasure admitted in undue degree, enslaves the will, nor leaves the judgment free.
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Knowledge and wisdom, far from being one, Have oft-times no connection. Knowledge dwells In heads replete with thoughts of other men Wisdom in minds attentive to their own.
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Some men make gain a fountain, whence proceeds A stream of liberal and heroic deeds The swell of pity, not to be confined Within the scanty limits of the mind.
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God moves in a mysterious way, His wonders to perform. He plants his footsteps in the sea, and rides upon the storm.
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No, Freedom has a thousand charms to show That slaves, howe'er contented, never know.
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He that attends to his interior self, That has a heart, and keeps it has a mind That hungers, and supplies it and who seeks A social, not a dissipated life, Has business.
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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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He that runs may read.
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