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All affectation 'tis my perfect scorn Object of my implacable disgust.

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
Perfect
Implacable
Affectation
Disgust
Scorn
Disgusting
Object
Objects

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Gardening imparts an organic perspective on the passage of time.
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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.
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An epigram is but a feeble thing - With straw in tail, stuck there by way of sting.
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And hast thou sworn on every slight pretence, Till perjuries are common as bad pence, While thousands, careless of the damning sin, Kiss the book's outside, who ne'er look'd within?
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Truth is the golden girdle of the globe.
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Where thou art gone, adieus and farewells are a sound unknown.
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Ten thousand casks, Forever dribbling out their base contents, Touch'd by the Midas finger of the state, Bleed gold for ministers to sport away. Drink, and be mad then 'tis your country bids!
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Pleasure admitted in undue degree, enslaves the will, nor leaves the judgment free.
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I am out of humanity's reach.I must finish my journey alone,Never hear the sweet music of speechI start at the sound of my own.
William Cowper
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Toil for the brave! The brave that are no more.
William Cowper
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Necessity invented stools, Convenience next suggested elbow-chairs, And luxury the accomplish'd Sofa last.
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Detested sport, That owes its pleasures to another's pain.
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The innocent seldom find an uncomfortable pillow.
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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 slaves of custom and established mode, With pack-horse constancy we keep the road Crooked or straight, through quags or thorny dells, True to the jingling of our leader's bells.
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Thus happiness depends, as nature shows, less on exterior things than most suppose.
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Sin let loose speaks punishment at hand.
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The still small voice is wanted.
William Cowper
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Forgot the blush that virgin fears impart To modest cheeks, and borrowed one from art.
William Cowper
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If a great man struggling with misfortunes is a noble object, a little man that despises them is no contemptible one.
William Cowper