Quote

All flesh is grass. and all its glory fades Like the fair flower dishevell'd in the wind Riches have wings, and grandeur is a dream The man we celebrate must find a tomb, And we that worship him, ignoble graves.

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
Wings
Fades
Men
Worship
Riches
Like
Flower
Graves
Glory
Celebrate
Wind
Grass
Ignoble
Death
Fairs
Tomb
Dream
Fair
Tombs
Find
Flesh
Grandeur

More quotes by William Cowper

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What peaceful hours I once enjoy'd! How sweet their memory still! But they have left an aching void The world can never fill.
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Fate steals along with silent tread, Found oftenest in what least we dread Frowns in the storm with angry brow, But in the sunshine strikes the blow.
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Blest be the art that can immortalize.
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They fix attention, heedless of your pain, With oaths like rivets forced into the brain And e'en when sober truth prevails throughout, They swear it, till affirmance breeds a doubt.
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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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'Tis liberty alone that gives the flower Of fleeting life its lustre and perfume And we are weeds without it.
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If my resolution to be a great man was half so strong as it is to despise the shame of being a little one.
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There goes the parson, oh illustrious spark! And there, scarce less illustrious, goes the clerk.
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Knowledge is proud that it knows so much wisdom is humble that it knows no 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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I seem forsaken and alone, / I hear the lion roar / And every door is shut but one, / And that is Mercy's door.
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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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[My kitten] is dressed in a tortoise-shell suit, and I know you will delight in her.
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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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Glory, built on selfish principles, is shame and guilt.
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But animated nature sweeter still, to soothe and satisfy the human ear.
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Man may dismiss compassion from his heart, but God never will.
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She that asks Her dear five hundred friends, contemns them all, And hates their coming.
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The Frenchman, easy, debonair, and brisk, Give him his lass, his fiddle, and his frisk, Is always happy, reign whoever may, And laughs the sense of mis'ry far away.
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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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