179 Quotes by Robert Herrick

The body is the soul's poor house or home, whose ribs the laths are and whose flesh the loam.

When the artless doctor sees No one hope, but of his fees, And his skill runs on the lees; Sweet Spirit, comfort me! When his potion and his pill, Has, or none, or little skill, Meet for nothing, but to kill; Sweet Spirit, comfort me!

Rise and put on your foliage, and be seen To come forth, like the springtime, fresh and green

Tears are the noble language of the eye.

He loves his bonds who, when the first are broke, Submits his neck into a second yoke.

Fair daffodils, we weep to see You haste away so soon: As yet the early-rising sun Has not attained his noon.

The person lives twice who lives the first life well

Feed him ye must, whose food fills you. And that this pleasure is like raine, Not sent ye for to drowne your paine, But for to make it spring againe.

Attempt the end, and never stand to doubt. Nothing's so hard but search will find it out.