Death's a fable. Did not Heaven inspire your equal Elements with living Fire blown from the Spring of Life? Is not that breath Immortal? Come; ye are as free from death as He that made ye: Can the flames expire… — Francis Quarles Copy Share Image
Immortal life is something to be earned, By slow self-conquest, comradeship with Pain, And patient seeking after higher truths. — Francis Quarles Copy Share Image
Be neither too early in the fashion, nor too long out of it, nor too precisely in it; what custom hath civilized is become… — Francis Quarles Copy Share Image
The World's a Printing-House, our words, our thoughts, Our deeds, are characters of several sizes. Each soul is a Compos'tor, of whose faults The Levites are Correctors; Heaven Revises. Death is the common Press, from whence being driven, We're gather'd, Sheet by Sheet, and bound for Heaven. — Francis Quarles Copy Share
Luxury is an enticing pleasure, a bastard mirth, which hath honey in her mouth, gall in her heart, and a sting in her tail. — Francis Quarles Copy Share Image
Deliberate long before thou consecrate a friend, and when thy impartial justice concludes him worthy of thy bosom, receive him joyfully, and entertain him… — Francis Quarles Copy Share Image
What treasures here do Mammon's sons behold! Yet know that all that which glitters is not gold. — Francis Quarles Copy Share Image
Meditation is the life of the soul: Action, the soul of meditation; and honor the reward of action. — Francis Quarles Copy Share Image
The world is deceitful; her end is doubtful, her conclusion is horrible, her judge terrible, and her judgment is intolerable. — Francis Quarles Copy Share Image
I wish thee as much pleasure in the reading, as I had in the writing. — Francis Quarles Copy Share Image
The suburbs of folly is vain mirth, and profuseness of laughter is the city of fools. — Francis Quarles Copy Share Image
The fountain of beauty is the heart and every generous thought illustrates the walls of your chamber. — Francis Quarles Copy Share Image
The strong desires of man's insatiate breast may stand possess'd Of all that earth can give; but earth can give no rest. — Francis Quarles Copy Share Image
