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Careless their merits or their faults to scan,His pity gave ere charity began.Thus to relieve the wretched was his pride,And e'en his failings leaned to Virtue's side.
Oliver Goldsmith -
The jests of the rich are ever successful.
Oliver Goldsmith
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The dog, to gain some private ends,Went mad, and bit the man.
Oliver Goldsmith -
When lovely woman stoops to folly, and finds too late that men betray, what charm can soothe her melancholy, what art can wash her guilt away?
Oliver Goldsmith -
To me more dear, congenial to my heart,One native charm, than all the gloss of art.
Oliver Goldsmith -
For just experience tells; in every soil,That those that think must govern those that toil.
Oliver Goldsmith -
The canvas glow'd beyond ev'n Nature warm,The pregnant quarry teem'd with human form.
Oliver Goldsmith -
And what is friendship but a name,A charm that lulls to sleep,A shade that follows wealth or fame,And leaves the wretch to weep?
Oliver Goldsmith
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Vain, very vain, my weary search to findThat bliss which only centers in the mind.
Oliver Goldsmith -
Our Garrick's a salad; for in him we seeOil, vinegar, sugar, and saltness agree!
Oliver Goldsmith -
A man he was to all the country dear,And passing rich with forty pounds a year.
Oliver Goldsmith -
He calls his extravagance, generosity; and his trusting everybody, universal benevolence.
Oliver Goldsmith -
Truth from his lips prevailed with double sway,And fools, who came to scoff, remained to pray.
Oliver Goldsmith -
The sigh that rends thy constant heartShall break thy Edwin's too.
Oliver Goldsmith
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But winter lingering chills the lap of May.
Oliver Goldsmith -
By sports like these are all their cares beguil'd;The sports of children satisfy the child.
Oliver Goldsmith -
Pride in their port, defiance in their eye,I see the lords of humankind pass by.
Oliver Goldsmith -
Alike all ages. Dames of ancient daysHave led their children through the mirthful maze,And the gay grandsire, skill'd in gestic lore,Has frisk'd beneath the burden of threescore.
Oliver Goldsmith -
The youth who follows his appetites too soon seizes the cup, before it has received its best ingredients, and by anticipating his pleasures, robs the remaining parts of life of their share, so that his eagerness only produces manhood of imbecility and an age of pain.
Oliver Goldsmith -
No flocks that range the valley freeTo slaughter I condemn;Taught by that Power that pities me,I learn to pity them:But from the mountain’s grassy sideA guiltless feast I bring;A scrip with herbs and fruits supplied,And water from the spring.
Oliver Goldsmith