Samuel Daniel Quotations

Beauty, sweet love, is like the morning dew, Whose short refresh upon tender green, Cheers for a time, but till the sun doth show And straight is gone, as it had never been.

The stars that have most glory have no rest.

Custom, that is before all law; Nature, that is above all art.

Love is a sickness full of woes, All remedies refusing; A plant that with most cutting grows, Most barren with best using.

By adversity are wrought the greatest works of admiration, and all the fair examples of renown, out of distress and misery are grown.

And for the few that only lend their ear, That few is all the world.

Striving to tell his woes, words would not come; For light cares speak, when mighty griefs are dumb.

We come to know best what men are, in their worse jeopardizes.

Unless above himself he can / Erect himself, how poor a thing is man.

Love is a sickness full of woes, All remedies refusing; A plant that with most cutting grows, Most barren with best using

Love is a sickness full of woes, / All remedies refusing; / A plant that with most cutting grows, / Most barren with best using. / Why so? / More we enjoy it, more it dies; / If not enjoyed, it sighing cries, / Hey ho.

Men do not weigh the stalk for that it was,When once they find her flower, her glory, pass.

Fair is my love, and cruel as she's fair, / Her brow shades frowns, although her eyes are sunny.

Princes in this case / Do hate the traitor, though they love the treason.

This is the Thing that I was born to do.

How dost thou wear and weary out thy days, / Restless Ambition, never at an end!

Come, worthy Greek! Ulysses, come; / Possess these shores with me! / The winds and seas are troublesome / And here we may be free.

Thus doth the ever-changing course of things Run a perpetual circle, ever turning; And that same day, that highest glory brings, Brings us unto the point of back-returning.

Love is a sickness full of woes, all remedies refusing.

And who in time knows whither we may vent the treasure of our tongue, to what strange shores this gain of our best glories shall be sent, 't unknowing Nations with our stores? What worlds in the yet unformed Occident may come refined with the accents that are ours?

Sacred religion! mother of form and fear.

Man is a creature of a willful head, And hardly driven is, but eas'ly led.

The wise are above books.

This is that rest this vain world lends, To end in death that all things ends.

Flattery, the dangerous nurse of vice.

So false is faction, and so smooth a liar, As that it never had a side entire.

Pow'r above pow'rs! O heavenly eloquence! That with the strong rein of commanding words, Dost manage, guide, and master th' eminence Of men's affections, more than all their swords!

Care-charmer Sleep, son of the sable Night, Brother to Death, in silent darkness born, Relieve my languish and restore the light; With dark forgetting of my care return. And let the day be time enough to mourn The shipwreck of my ill adventured youth: Let waking eyes suffice to wail their scorn Without the torment of the night's untruth.

When better cherries are not to be had, We needs must take the seeming best of bad.

This many-headed monster, Multitude.

But years hath done this wrong, To make me write too much, and live too long.

Th aspirer, once attaind unto the top, Cuts off those means by which himself got up.

The absent danger greater still appears less fears he who is near the thing he fears.

The greatest works of admiration, And all the fair examples of renown. Out of distress and misery are grown.