Quotes of All Topics . Occasions . Authors
What more felicity can fall to creature, than to enjoy delight with liberty?
Hasty wrath and heedless hazardy do breed repentance late and lasting infamy.
Beauty is not, as fond men misdeem, an outward show of things that only seem.
Rising glory occasions the greatest envy, as kindling fire the greatest smoke.
And thus of all my harvest-hope I have Nought reaped but a weedye crop of care.
Fondnesse it were for any being free, To covet fetters, though they golden bee.
Like as the culver on the bared bough Sits mourning for the absence of her mate
Man's wretched state, That floures so fresh at morne, and fades at evening late.
All that in this delightful garden grows should happy be and have immortal bliss.
For all that faire is, is by nature good;That is a signe to know the gentle blood.
It is the mind that maketh good of ill, that maketh wretch or happy, rich or poor.
So passeth, in the passing of a day, Of mortall life the leafe, the bud, the flowre
I hate the day, because it lendeth light To see all things, but not my love to see.
Such is the power of love in gentle mind, That it can alter all the course of kind.
In vain he seeketh others to suppress, Who hath not learn'd himself first to subdue.
For easy things, that may be got at will, Most sorts of men do set but little store.
It often falls, in course of common life, that right long time is overborne of wrong.
Dan Chaucer, well of English undefyled,On Fames eternall beadroll worthie to be fyled.
The merry cuckow, messenger of Spring, His trumpet shrill hath thrice already sounded.
So let us love, dear Love, like as we ought; Love is the lesson which the Lord us taught.
Why then should witless man so much misweene That nothing is but that which he hath seene?
For if good were not praised more than ill, None would chuse goodness of his own free will.
What man that sees the ever-whirling wheel Of Change, the which all mortal things doth sway.
But Justice, though her dome she doe prolong, Yet at the last she will her owne cause right.
For of the soule the bodie forme doth take; For the soule is forme, and doth the bodie make.
For since mine eyes your joyous sight did miss, my cheerful day is turned to cheerless night.
Make haste therefore, sweet love, whilst it is prime, For none can call again the passed time.
Sleep after toil, port after stormy seas, Ease after war, death after life does greatly please.
Ah! when will this long weary day have end, And lende me leave to come unto my love? - Epithalamion
She bathed with roses red, And violets blew. And all the sweetest flowres That in the forrest grew.
Her angel's face, As the great eye of heaven shined bright, And made a sunshine in the shady place.
Vaine is the vaunt, and victory unjust, that more to mighty hands, then rightfull cause doth trust.
This iron world bungs down the stoutest hearts to lowest state; for misery doth bravest minds abate.
The gentle mind by gentle deeds is known, For a man by nothing is so well betrayed As by his manners.
The poets scrolls will outlive the monuments of stone. Genius survives; all else is claimed by death.
Fly from wrath; sad be the sights and bitter fruits of war; a thousand furies wait on wrathful swords.
The poets' scrolls will outlive the monuments of stone. Genius survives; all else is claimed by death.
In one consort there sat cruel revenge and rancorous despite, disloyal treason and heart-burning hate.
Nothing under heaven so strongly doth allure the sense of man, and all his mind possess, as beauty's love.
Unhappie Verse, the witnesse of my unhappie state, Make thy selfe fluttring wings of thy fast flying Thought
Pour out the wine without restraint or stay, Pour not by cups, but by the bellyful, Pour out to all that wull.
The Patron of true Holinesse, Foule Errour doth defeate: Hypocrisie him to entrappe, Doth to his home entreate.
Woe to the man that first did teach the cursed steel to bite in his own flesh, and make way to the living spirit!
From good to bad, and from bad to worse, From worse unto that is worst of all, And then return to his former fall.
So Orpheus did for his owne bride, So I unto my selfe alone will sing, The woods shall to me answer and my Eccho ring.
I was promised on a time To have reason for my rhyme; From that time unto this season, I received nor rhyme nor reason.
I was promised on a time - to have reason for my rhyme; From that time unto this season, I received nor rhyme nor reason.
Bright as does the morning star appear, Out of the east with flaming locks bedight, To tell the dawning day is drawing near.
For we by conquest, of our soveraine might,And by eternall doome of Fate's decree,Have wonne the Empire of the Heavens bright.
In youth, before I waxe' d old, The blind boy,Venus' baby, For want of cunning made me bold, In bitter hive to grope for honey.