Remorse, the fatal egg by pleasure laid.
William Cowper (1731 - 1800)
Source: Progress of Error
Contributed by: Zaady
Could he with reason murmur at his case, Himself sole author of his own disgrace?
'Tis hard if all is false that I advance A fool must now and then be right, by chance.
Ye therefore who love mercy, teach your sons to love it, too.
Source: The Winter Walk at Noon
Absence of occupation is not rest, A mind quite vacant is a mind distress'd.
Feels himself spent and fumbles for his brains.
Source: Table Talk
In indolent vacuity of thought.
Source: The Winter Evening
Perhaps thou gav'st me, though unseen, a kiss; Perhaps a tear, if souls can weep in bliss.
Source: On the Receipt of My Mother’s Picture
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.
Ages elapsed ere Homer's lamp appear'd, And ages ere the Mantuan swan was heard: To carry nature lengths unknown before, To give a Milton birth, ask'd ages more.
Source: Table Talk. Line 556.
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