THE MOST EXTENSIVE
ON THE INTERNET
Wealth in the gross is death, but life diffus'd,
As poison heals, in just proportion us'd.
What is every year of a wise man's life but a censure or critic on the past?
What is fame? a fancied life in others' breath.
What is it to be wise?
'Tis but to know how little can be known,
To see all others' faults, and feel our own.
What mighty contests rise from trivial things.
What nothing earthly gives, or can destroy,
The soul's calm sunshine, and the heart-felt joy,
Is virtue's prize.
What so pure, which envious tongues will spare?
Some wicked wits have libell'd all the fair,
With matchless impudence they style a wife,
The dear-bought curse, and lawful plague of life;
A bosom serpent, a domestic evil,
A night invasion, and a mid-day devil;
Let not the wise these sland'rous words regard,
But curse the bones of ev'ry living bard.
What though no friends in sable weeds appear,
Grieve for an hour, perhaps, then mourn a year?
And bear about the mockery of woe
To midnight dances, and the public show!
What Tully said of war may be applied to disputing: "It should be always so managed as to remember that the only true end of it is peace." But generally true disputants are like true sportsmen,--their whole delight is in the pursuit; and the disputant no more cares for the truth than the sportsman for the hare.
When I die, I should be ashamed to leave enough to build me a monument if there were a wanting friend above ground. I would enjoy the pleasure of what I give by giving it alive and seeing another enjoy it.
When men grow virtuous in their old age, they only make a sacrifice to God of the devil's leavings.
When rosy morning glimmered o'er the dales.
When two people compliment each other with the choice of anything, each of them generally gets that which he likes least.
When we are young, we are slavishly employed in procuring something whereby we may live comfortably when we grow old; and when we are old, we perceive it is too late to live as we proposed.
- [Old Age]
When weary reapers quit the sultry field,
and, crown'd with corn, their thanks to Ceres yield.
Where blended lie the oppressor and the oppressed.
Where order in variety we see, and where, though all things differ, all agree.
Wherever I find a great deal of gratitude in a poor man, I take it for granted there would be as much generosity if he were a rich man.
- [Generosity : Gratitude]
While I live, no rich or noble knave shall walk the world in credit to his grave.
Who knows but He, whose hand the lightning forms,
Who heaves old ocean, and who wings the storms,
Pours fierce ambition in a Caesar's mind.
Who says in verse what others say in prose.
Who taught that heaven-directed spire to rise?
Who taught the nations of the field and wood
To shun their poison and to choose their food.
Whoever thinks a perfect work to see, thinks what ne'er was, nor is, nor e'er shall be.
Wholesome solitude, the nurse of sense!
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