Samuel Daniel


English Poet and Historian

Author Quotes

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 cares return.

Sacred religion! Mother of Form and Fear!

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

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

Short is the glory of the blushing rose, the hue which thou so carefully dost nourish, Yet which at length thou must be forced to lose.

When men shall find thy flow’r, thy glory, pass, and thou with careful brow, sitting alone, received hast this message from thy glass, that tells the truth and says that All is gone.

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

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

When winter snows upon thy sable hairs, and frost of age hath nipped thy beauties near; when dark shall seem thy day that never clears, and all lies withered that was held so dear, then take this picture which I here present thee, limned with a pencil not all unworthy;

Fair is my Love, and cruel as she’s fair her brow shades frowns, although her eyes are sunny; her smiles are lightning, though her pride despair; and her disdains are gall, her favours honey. A modest maid, decked with a blush of honour, whose feet do tread green paths of youth and love,

Suffice they show I lived, and loved thee dear.

When your eyes have done their part thought must length’n it in the heart.

Fair nymph, if fame or honour were to be attained with ease, then would I come and rest me there,

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

How dost thou wear and weary out thy days, restless ambition, never at an end!

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

If this be love, to clothe me with dark thoughts, haunting untrodden paths to wail apart; my pleasures horror, music tragic notes, tears in mine eyes and sorrow at my heart. If this be love, to live a living death, then do I love and draw this weary breath.

The best thing of our life, our rest, and give us up to toil.

Let others sing of knights and paladins in aged accents and untimely words, paint shadows, in imaginary lines.

The stars that have most glory have no rest.

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.

The wise are above books

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

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

These are the arks, the trophies, I erect, that fortify thy name against old age; and these thy sacred virtues must protect against the dark and Times consuming rage.

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English Poet and Historian