Quotes from Edmund Waller

A narrow compass! and yet there Dwelt all that 's good, and all that 's fair; Give me but what this riband bound, Take all the rest the sun goes round.

What use of oaths, of promise, or of test, where men regard no God but interest?

To man, that was in th' evening made, Stars gave the first delight; Admiring, in the gloomy shade, Those little drops of light.

The fear of God is freedom, joy, and peace; And makes all ills that vex us here to cease.

Since thou wouldst needs, bewitched with some ill charms, Be buried in those monumental arms: As we can wish, is, may that earth lie light Upon thy tender limbs, and so good night.

Poets that lasting marble seek Must come in Latin or in Greek.

When religion doth with virtue join, it makes a hero like an angel shine.

Poets lose half the praise they should have got, Could it be known what they discreetly blot.

Circle are praised, not that abound, In largeness, but the exactly round.

Tea does our fancy aid, Repress those vapours which the head invade, And keeps that palace of the soul serene.

Thrice happy is that humble pair, Beneath the level of all care! Over whose heads those arrows fly, Of sad distrust and jealousy.

So must the writer, whose productions should Take with the vulgar, be of vulgar mould.

That which her slender waist confin'dShall now my joyful temples bind;No monarch but would give his crownHis arms might do what this has done.

The Muse's friend, Tea, does our fancy aid; Repress those vapors which the head invade; And keeps that palace of the soul serene....

The soul's dark cottage, battered and decayed, Lets in new light through chinks that time hath made.

The soul's dark cottage, batter'd and decay'd,Lets in new light through chinks that Time has made;Stronger by weakness, wiser, men becomeAs they draw near to their eternal home.Leaving the old, both worlds at once they view,That stand upon the threshold of the new.

Illustrious acts high raptures do infuse,And every conqueror creates a muse.

Stronger by weakness, wiser men become.

Poets that lasting marble seekMust carve in Latin or in Greek.

Poets lose half the praise they should have got,Could it be known what they discreetly blot.

My joy, my grief, my hope, my love,Did all within this circle move!

So all we knowOf what they do aboveIs that they happy are, and that they love.

Guarded with ships, and all our sea our own.

The seas are quiet when the winds give o'er; So calm are we when passions are no more!