Oliver Goldsmith Quotes
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I can't say whether we had more wit among us now than usual, but I am certain we had more laughing, which answered the end as well.
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But winter lingering chills the lap of May.
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The canvas glow'd beyond ev'n Nature warm,The pregnant quarry teem'd with human form.
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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.
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And, ev'n while fashion's brightest arts decoy,The heart distrusting asks, if this be joy.
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The sigh that rends thy constant heartShall break thy Edwin's too.
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Don't let us make imaginary evils, when you know we have so many real ones to encounter.
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Our Garrick's a salad; for in him we seeOil, vinegar, sugar, and saltness agree!
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Romance and novel paint beauty in colors more charming than nature, and describe a happiness that humans never taste. How deceptive and destructive are those pictures of consummate bliss!
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The premises being thus settled, I proceed to observe that the concatenation of self-existence, proceeding in a reciprocal duplicate ratio, naturally produces a problematical dialogism, which in some measure proves that the essence of spirituality may be referred to the second predicable.
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By sports like these are all their cares beguil'd;The sports of children satisfy the child.
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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.
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For just experience tells; in every soil,That those that think must govern those that toil.
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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?
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Let us draw upon Content for the deficiencies of fortune.
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Forc'd from their homes, a melancholy train,To traverse climes beyond the western main;Where wild Oswego spreads her swamps around,And Niagara stuns with thundering sound.
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Silence gives consent.
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Pride in their port, defiance in their eye,I see the lords of humankind pass by.
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Vain, very vain, my weary search to findThat bliss which only centers in the mind.
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The dog, to gain some private ends,Went mad, and bit the man.
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The jests of the rich are ever successful.
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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?
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A man he was to all the country dear,And passing rich with forty pounds a year.
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The king himself has followed herWhen she has walk'd before.