Quotes to inspire and reflect

O Solitude! where are the charms That sages have seen in thy face?

I am monarch of all I survey, My right there is none to dispute.

I praise the Frenchman [La Bruyère], his remark was shrewd— How sweet, how passing sweet, is solitude! But grant me still a friend in my retreat Whom I may whisper—solitude is sweet.

His wit invites you by his looks to come, But when you knock it never is at home.

Absence of occupation is not rest, A mind quite vacant is a mind distress’d.

A fool must now and then be right, by chance.

How much a dunce that has been sent to roam Excels a dunce that has been kept at home!

Behind a frowning providence He hides a smiling face.

God moves in a mysterious way His wonders to perform; He plants his footsteps in the sea And rides upon the storm.

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

Oh! for a closer walk with God.

Her modest looks the cottage might adorn, Sweet as the primrose peeps beneath the thorn.

On the stage he was natural, simple, affecting; ’Twas only that when he was off he was acting.

To me more dear, congenial to my heart, One native charm, than all the gloss of art.

Truth from his lips prevail’d with double sway, And fools, who came to scoff, remain’d to pray.

How happy he who crowns in shades like these, A youth of labor with an age of ease.

The watchdog’s voice that bay’d the whispering wind, And the loud laugh that spoke the vacant mind. 6

His best companions, innocence and health; And his best riches, ignorance of wealth.

Sweet Auburn! loveliest village of the plain.

When lovely woman stoops to folly, 5 And finds too late that men betray, What charm can soothe her melancholy? What art can wash her guilt away?

The only art her guilt to cover, To hide her shame from every eye, To give repentance to her lover, And wring his bosom, is—to die.

The dog, to gain some private ends, Went mad, and bit the man.

The man recover’d of the bite, The dog it was that died.

And in that town a dog was found, As many dogs there be, Both mongrel, puppy, whelp, and hound, And curs of low degree.

The naked every day he clad When he put on his clothes.

Laws grind the poor, and rich men rule the law.

For just experience tells; in every soil, That those that think must govern those that toil.

Pride in their port, defiance in their eye, I see the lords of humankind 3 pass by.

The land of scholars, and the nurse of arms. 4

They please, are pleas’d, they give to get esteem, Till, seeming blest, they grow to what they seem. 2

Such is the patriot’s boast, where’er we roam, His first, best country ever is, at home.

Where’er I roam, whatever realms to see, My heart untravel’d fondly turns to thee; Still to my brother turns with ceaseless pain, And drags at each remove a lengthening chain.

Remote, unfriended, melancholy, slow, Or by the lazy Scheldt, or wandering Po.

For I will consider my Cat Jeoffrey, For he is the servant of the Living God, duly and daily serving him.

For he counteracts the Devil, who is Death, by brisking about the life.

For I bless God in the libraries of the learned and for all the booksellers in the world.

Let James rejoice with the Skuttle-Fish who foils his foe by the effusion of his ink.

Where ask is have, where seek is find, Where knock is open wide.

And now the matchless deed’s achiev’d, Determin’d, dar’d, and done.

Tell them I Am, Jehovah said To Moses; while earth heard in dread, And smitten to the heart, At once above, beneath, around, All nature, without voice or sound, Replied, O Lord, Thou art.

For adoration all the ranks Of angels yield eternal thanks, And David in the midst.

Too poor for a bribe, and too proud to importune, He had not the method of making a fortune.

This piercing cold I feel: my dead wife’s comb, in our bedroom under my heel… 1

Iron sleet of arrowy shower Hurtles in the darken’d air.

Fair laughs the morn, and soft the zephyr blows, While proudly riding o’er the azure realm In gallant trim the gilded vessel goes; Youth on the prow, and Pleasure at the helm; Regardless of the sweeping whirlwind’s sway, That, hush’d in grim repose, expects his evening prey.

Ruin seize thee, ruthless King! Confusion on thy banners wait, Though fann’d by Conquest’s crimson wing They mock the air with idle state.

He 2 pass’d the flaming bounds of place and time: The living throne, the sapphire-blaze, Where angels tremble, while they gaze, He saw; but blasted with excess of light, Closed his eyes in endless night.

O’er her warm cheek and rising bosom move The bloom of young Desire and purple light of Love.