Quotes
Quotes about Haste
Haste maketh waste.
The fair, the chaste, and unexpressive she.
Who wooed in haste, and means to wed at leisure.
Make haste; the better foot before.
I have touched the highest point of all my greatness;
And from that full meridian of my glory
I haste now to my setting: I shall fall
Like a bright exhalation in the evening,
And no man see me more.
Chaste as the icicle
That's curdied by the frost from purest snow
And hangs on Dian's temple.
This sweaty haste
Doth make the night joint-labourer with the day.
While one with moderate haste might tell a hundred.
Be thou as chaste as ice, as pure as snow, thou shalt not escape calumny. Get thee to a nunnery, go.
As chaste as unsunn'd snow.
Sir Amice Pawlet, when he saw too much haste made in any matter, was wont to say, "Stay a while, that we may make an end the sooner."
Fair daffadills, we weep to see
You haste away so soon:
As yet the early rising sun
Has not attained his noon.
So saying, with despatchful looks in haste
She turns, on hospitable thoughts intent.
Haste thee, Nymph, and bring with thee
Jest and youthful Jollity,
Quips and Cranks and wanton Wiles,
Nods and Becks and wreathed Smiles.
Men met each other with erected look,
The steps were higher that they took;
Friends to congratulate their friends made haste,
And long inveterate foes saluted as they pass'd.
Of seeming arms to make a short essay,
Then hasten to be drunk,--the business of the day.
Thus grief still treads upon the heels of pleasure;
Married in haste, we may repent at leisure.
Early, bright, transient, chaste as morning dew,
She sparkled, was exhal'd and went to heaven.
I am always in haste, but never in a hurry.
Trade's proud empire hastes to swift decay.
For his chaste Muse employ'd her heaven-taught lyre
None but the noblest passions to inspire,
Not one immoral, one corrupted thought,
One line which, dying, he could wish to blot.
Ill fares the land, to hastening ills a prey,
Where wealth accumulates, and men decay.
Princes and lords may flourish or may fade,--
A breath can make them, as a breath has made;
But a bold peasantry, their country's pride,
When once destroy'd, can never be supplied.
And there was mounting in hot haste.
I know the Table Round, my friends of old;
All brave and many generous and some chaste.
For lo! the days are hastening on,
By prophet-bards foretold,
When with the ever-circling years,
Comes round the age of gold;
When Peace shall over all the earth
Its ancient splendors fling
And the whole world send back the song
Which now the angels sing.
