THE MOST EXTENSIVE
ON THE INTERNET
Only man clogs his happiness with care, destroying what is, with thoughts of what may be.
Our summer such a russet livery wears as in a garment often dyed appears.
Parting is worse than death; it is death of love!
Perceiv'st them not the process of the year,
How the four seasons in four forms appear,
Resembling human life in ev'ry shape they wear?
Spring first, like infancy, shoots out her head,
With milky juice requiring to be fed: * * *
Proceeding onward whence the year began,
The Summer grows adult, and ripens into man. * * *
Autumn succeeds, a sober, tepid age,
Not froze with fear, nor boiling into rage; * * *
Last, Winter creeps along with tardy pace,
Sour is his front, and furrowed is his face.
Pity melts the mind to love.
Pity only on fresh objects stays, but with the tedious sight of woes decays.
Pleasure never comes sincere to man; but lent by heaven upon hard usury.
Poplicola's doors were opened on the outside, to save the people even the common civility of asking entrance; where misfortune was a powerful recommendation, and where want itself was a powerful mediator.
Prodigious actions may as well be done, by weaver's issue, as the prince's son.
Reason was given to curb our headstrong will,
And yet but shows a weak physician's skill;
Gives nothing while the raging fit doth last,
But stays to cure it when the worst is past;
Reason's a staff for age, when nature's gone,
But youth is strong enough to walk alone.
Repartee is the soul of conversation.
Restless at home, and ever prone to range.
Revealed religion first informed thy sight, and reason saw not till faith sprung to light.
Riches cannot rescue from the grave, which claims alike the monarch and the slave.
Satire among the Romans, but not among the Greeks, was a bitter invective poem.
Satire is a kind of poetry in which human vices are reprehended.
Sculptors are obliged to follow the manners of the painters, and to make many ample folds, which are unsufferable hardness, and more like a rock than a natural garment.
Seas are the fields of combat for the winds; but when they sweep along some flowery coast, their wings move mildly, and their rage is lost.
Seek not to know what must not be reveal'd;
Joys only flow where Fate is most conceal'd;
Too busie man wou'd find his Sorrows more,
If future Fortunes he shou'd know before;
For by that knowledge of his Destiny
He would not live at all, but always die.
Set all things in their own peculiar place,
And know that order is the greatest grace.
Shakespeare was naturally learned; he needed not the spectacles of the books to read nature; he looked inward, and found her there.
Shakespeare's magic could not copied be:
Within that circle none durst walk but he.
She brought her cheek up close, and leaned on his; at which he whispered kisses back on hers.
She stammers; oh, what grace in lisping lies!
Sighs, groans, and tears proclaim his inward pains
But the firm purpose of his heart remains.
Displaying page 8 of 21 for this author: << Prev Next >> 1 2 3 4 5 6 7  9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21
Support GIGA. Buy something from Amazon.