Quotes of All Topics . Occasions . Authors
Thou art a slave, whom fortune's tender arm With favour never clasp'd; but bred a dog.
I would that I were low laid in my grave. I am not worth this coil that's made for me.
I will instruct my sorrows to be proud; for grief is proud, and makes his owner stoop.
Women are as roses, whose fair flower, being once displayed, doth fall that very hour.
That if you be honest and fair, your honesty should admit no discourse to your beauty.
The rose looks fair, but fairer we it deem For that sweet odour which doth in it live.
For many men that stumble at the threshold are well foretold that danger lurks within.
When devils will the blackest sins put on They do suggest at first with heavenly shows
You were aimed from birth: you will never be alone... The whole wide world pours down.
The mind that is wise mourns less for what age takes away; than what it leaves behind.
Miss not the occasion; by the forelock take that subtle power, the never-halting time.
Poetry is the first and last of all knowledge - it is as immortal as the heart of man.
They say the first love's most important. That's very romantic, but not my experience.
It's not a love of poetry readings that attracts those who do come to them but theater.
Stones of small worth may lie unseen by day, But night itself does the rich gem betray.
Thus each extreme to equal danger tends, Plenty, as well as Want, can sep'rate friends.
Pale hands I loved beside the Shalimar, where are you now? Who lies beneath your spell?
When a woman tells the truth she is creating the possibility for more truth around her.
May your hands be an extension of your heart and may you do the work of love with them.
Hatred doesn't just hurt the people being hated, it hurts the people housing the hatred
I did not hate God or Christ, but merely the God and Christ of the people whom I hated.
The pious pretense that evil does not exist only makes it vague, enormous and menacing.
We think our fathers fools, so wise we grow. Our wiser sons, no doubt will think us so.
Ambition first sprung from your blest abodes: the glorious fault of angels and of gods.
The hog that ploughs not, not obeys thy call, Lives on the labours of this lord of all.
And hence one master-passion in the breast, Like Aaron's serpent, swallows up the rest.
Mark what unvary'd laws preserve each state, Laws wise as Nature, and as fixed as Fate.
Taste, that eternal wanderer, which flies From head to ears, and now from ears to eyes.
Talk what you will of taste, my friend, you'll find two of a face as soon as of a mind.
Like bubbles on the sea of matter borne, They rise, they break, and to that sea return.
Love seldom haunts the breast where learning lies, And Venus sets ere Mercury can rise.
Ah! what avails it me the flocks to keep, Who lost my heart while I preserv'd my sheep.
Lo! The poor Indian, whose untutored mind sees God in clouds, or hears him in the wind.
Remembrance and reflection how allied. What thin partitions divides sense from thought.
If a man's character is to be abused there's nobody like a relative to do the business.
A brave man struggling in the storms of fate, And greatly falling with a falling state.
"With ev'ry pleasing, ev'ry prudent part, Say, what can Chloe want?"-She wants a heart.
The dances ended, all the fairy train For pinks and daisies search'd the flow'ry plain.
Fame is but an inscription on a grave, and glory the melancholy blazon on a coffin lid.
Of what use were the arts if they were only the reproduction and the imitation of life?
The sky is that beautiful old parchment in which the sun and the moon keep their diary.
And the days darken round me, and the years, Among new men, strange faces, other minds.
But now, you are twain, you are cloven apart Flesh of his flesh, but heart of my heart.
Women and men in the crowd meet and mingle, Yet with itself every soul standeth single.
I know I'm not God, are you? Don't be silly. God? God? Everybody's God? Don't be silly.
Time! Joyless emblem of the greed of millions, robber of the best which earth can give.
We reproach people for talking about themselves; but it is the subject they treat best.
We all have bullets beneath our skin we pray our lovers won't flinch at when they find.
This is my heartbeat like yours, it is a hatchet It can build a house or tear one down.
Suffer not thy wrongs to shroud thy fate, But turn, my soul, to blessings which remain.