Quotes of All Topics . Occasions . Authors
Genius is of no country.
Patience is sorrow's salve.
A joke's a very serious thing.
On the four aces doom'd to roll.
To copy faults is want of sense.
Fame is nothing but an empty name.
Genius is independent of situation.
And reputation bleeds in ev'ry word.
The more haste, ever the worst speed.
Knaves starve not in the land of fools.
The laws I love; the lawyers I suspect.
He hurts me most who lavishly commends.
If you mean to profit, learn to praise.
Prudent dullness marked him for a mayor.
It can't be Nature, for it is not sense.
No tribute is laid on castles in the air.
He mouths a sentence as curs mouth a bone.
Fool beckons fool, and dunce awakens dunce.
All hunt for fame, but most mistake the way.
Wherever waves can roll, and winds can blow.
The best things carried to excess are wrong.
Nor waste their sweetness in the desert air.
Ourselves are to ourselves the cause of ill.
The proud will sooner lose than ask their way.
Those who raise envy will easily incur censure.
Genius is nothing more than inflamed enthusiasm.
Those who would make us feel must feel themselves.
Whom drink made wits, though nature made them fools.
Even in a hero's heart Discretion is the better part.
Man and wife, Coupled together for the sake of strife.
Wit, who never once Forgave a brother, shall forgive a dunce.
Be England what she will, With all her faults she is my country still.
Most of those evils we poor mortals know From doctors and imagination flow.
Quick-circulating slanders mirth afford; and reputation bleeds in every word.
To copy beauty forfeits all pretense to fame; to copy faults is want of sense
To copy beauty forfeits all pretense to fame; to copy faults is want of sense.
Who often, but without success, have prayed for apt Alliteration's artful aid.
The danger chiefly lies in acting well; no crime's so great as daring to excel.
If honor calls, where'er she points the way The sons of honor follow, and obey.
Genius is of no country; her pure ray Spreads all abroad, as general as the day.
With that malignant envy which turns pale, And sickens, even if a friend prevail.
Amongst the sons of men how few are known Who dare be just to merit not their own.
Fashion--a word which knaves and fools may use, Their knavery and folly to excuse.
By different methods different men excel, but where is he who can do all things well?
Though by whim, envy, or resentment led, they damn those authors whom they never read.
Keep up appearances; there lies the test. The world will give thee credit for the rest.
Weak is that throne, and in itself unsound, Which takes not solid virtue for its ground.
With various readings stored his empty skull, Learn'd without sense, and venerably dull.
Men the most infamous are fond of fame, And those who fear not guilt yet start at shame.
The rigid saint, by whom no mercy's shown To saints whose lives are better than his own.