Familiar Quotations, - [best romance ebooks .txt] 📗
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Which Jews might kiss, and infidels adore.
The Rape of the Lock. Canto ii. Line 7.
If to her share some female errors fall,
Look on her face, and you 'll forget them all.
The Rape of the Lock. Canto ii. Line 17.
[326]
Fair tresses man's imperial race insnare,
And beauty draws us with a single hair.[326:1]
The Rape of the Lock. Canto ii. Line 27.
Here thou, great Anna! whom three realms obey,
Dost sometimes counsel take—and sometimes tea.
The Rape of the Lock. Canto iii. Line 7.
At every word a reputation dies.
The Rape of the Lock. Canto iii. Line 16.
The hungry judges soon the sentence sign,
And wretches hang that jurymen may dine.
The Rape of the Lock. Canto iii. Line 21.
Coffee, which makes the politician wise,
And see through all things with his half-shut eyes.
The Rape of the Lock. Canto iii. Line 117.
The meeting points the sacred hair dissever
From the fair head, forever, and forever!
The Rape of the Lock. Canto iii. Line 153.
Sir Plume, of amber snuff-box justly vain,
And the nice conduct of a clouded cane.
The Rape of the Lock. Canto iv. Line 123.
Charms strike the sight, but merit wins the soul.
The Rape of the Lock. Canto v. Line 34.
Shut, shut the door, good John! fatigued, I said;
Tie up the knocker! say I 'm sick, I 'm dead.
Epistle to Dr. Arbuthnot. Prologue to the Satires. Line 1.
Fire in each eye, and papers in each hand,
They rave, recite, and madden round the land.
Epistle to Dr. Arbuthnot. Prologue to the Satires. Line 5.
E'en Sunday shines no Sabbath day to me.
Epistle to Dr. Arbuthnot. Prologue to the Satires. Line 12.
Is there a parson much bemused in beer,
A maudlin poetess, a rhyming peer,
A clerk foredoom'd his father's soul to cross,
Who pens a stanza when he should engross?
Epistle to Dr. Arbuthnot. Prologue to the Satires. Line 15.
Friend to my life, which did not you prolong,
The world had wanted many an idle song.
Epistle to Dr. Arbuthnot. Prologue to the Satires. Line 27.
Obliged by hunger and request of friends.
Epistle to Dr. Arbuthnot. Prologue to the Satires. Line 44.
Fired that the house rejects him, "'Sdeath! I 'll print it,
And shame the fools."
Epistle to Dr. Arbuthnot. Prologue to the Satires. Line 61.
[327]
No creature smarts so little as a fool.
Epistle to Dr. Arbuthnot. Prologue to the Satires. Line 84.
Destroy his fib or sophistry—in vain!
The creature 's at his dirty work again.
Epistle to Dr. Arbuthnot. Prologue to the Satires. Line 91.
As yet a child, nor yet a fool to fame,
I lisp'd in numbers, for the numbers came.
Epistle to Dr. Arbuthnot. Prologue to the Satires. Line 127.
Pretty! in amber to observe the forms
Of hairs, or straws, or dirt, or grubs, or worms![327:1]
The things, we know, are neither rich nor rare,
But wonder how the devil they got there.
Epistle to Dr. Arbuthnot. Prologue to the Satires. Line 169.
Means not, but blunders round about a meaning;
And he whose fustian 's so sublimely bad,
It is not poetry, but prose run mad.
Epistle to Dr. Arbuthnot. Prologue to the Satires. Line 186.
Should such a man, too fond to rule alone,
Bear, like the Turk, no brother near the throne.[327:2]
Epistle to Dr. Arbuthnot. Prologue to the Satires. Line 197.
Damn with faint praise, assent with civil leer,
And without sneering teach the rest to sneer;[327:3]
Willing to wound, and yet afraid to strike,
Just hint a fault, and hesitate dislike.
Epistle to Dr. Arbuthnot. Prologue to the Satires. Line 201.
By flatterers besieg'd,
And so obliging that he ne'er oblig'd;
Like Cato, give his little senate laws,[327:4]
And sit attentive to his own applause.
Epistle to Dr. Arbuthnot. Prologue to the Satires. Line 207.
Who but must laugh, if such a man there be?
Who would not weep, if Atticus were he?
Epistle to Dr. Arbuthnot. Prologue to the Satires. Line 213.
"On wings of winds came flying all abroad."[327:5]
Epistle to Dr. Arbuthnot. Prologue to the Satires. Line 218.
Cursed be the verse, how well so e'er it flow,
That tends to make one worthy man my foe.
Epistle to Dr. Arbuthnot. Prologue to the Satires. Line 283.
[328]
Satire or sense, alas! can Sporus feel?
Who breaks a butterfly upon a wheel?
Epistle to Dr. Arbuthnot. Prologue to the Satires. Line 307.
Eternal smiles his emptiness betray,
As shallow streams run dimpling all the way.
Epistle to Dr. Arbuthnot. Prologue to the Satires. Line 315.
Wit that can creep, and pride that licks the dust.
Epistle to Dr. Arbuthnot. Prologue to the Satires. Line 333.
That not in fancy's maze he wander'd long,
But stoop'd to truth, and moraliz'd his song.[328:1]
Epistle to Dr. Arbuthnot. Prologue to the Satires. Line 340.
Me let the tender office long engage
To rock the cradle of reposing age;
With lenient arts extend a mother's breath,
Make languor smile, and smooth the bed of death;
Explore the thought, explain the asking eye,
And keep awhile one parent from the sky.
Epistle to Dr. Arbuthnot. Prologue to the Satires. Line 408.
Lord Fanny spins a thousand such a day.
Satires, Epistles, and Odes of Horace. Satire i. Book ii. Line 6.
Satire 's my weapon, but I 'm too discreet
To run amuck, and tilt at all I meet.
Satires, Epistles, and Odes of Horace. Satire i. Book ii. Line 69.
But touch me, and no minister so sore;
Whoe'er offends at some unlucky time
Slides into verse, and hitches in a rhyme,
Sacred to ridicule his whole life long,
And the sad burden of some merry song.
Satires, Epistles, and Odes of Horace. Satire i. Book ii. Line 76.
Bare the mean heart that lurks behind a star.
Satires, Epistles, and Odes of Horace. Satire i. Book ii. Line 110.
There St. John mingles with my friendly bowl,
The feast of reason and the flow of soul.
Satires, Epistles, and Odes of Horace. Satire i. Book ii. Line 127.
For I, who hold sage Homer's rule the best,
Welcome the coming, speed the going guest.[328:2]
Satires, Epistles, and Odes of Horace. Satire ii. Book ii. Line 159.
Give me again my hollow tree,
A crust of bread, and liberty.
Satires, Epistles, and Odes of Horace. Satire vi. Book ii. Line 220.
[329]
Do good by stealth, and blush to find it fame.
Satires, Epistles, and Odes of Horace. Epilogue to the Satires. Dialogue i. Line 136.
To Berkeley every virtue under heaven.
Satires, Epistles, and Odes of Horace. Epilogue to the Satires. Dialogue ii. Line 73.
When the brisk minor pants for twenty-one.
Satires, Epistles, and Odes of Horace. Epistle i. Book i. Line 38.
He 's armed without that 's innocent within.
Satires, Epistles, and Odes of Horace. Epistle i. Book i. Line 94.
Get place and wealth, if possible, with grace;
If not, by any means get wealth and place.[329:1]
Satires, Epistles, and Odes of Horace. Epistle i. Book i. Line 103.
Above all Greek, above all Roman fame.[329:2]
Satires, Epistles, and Odes of Horace. Epistle i. Book ii. Line 26.
Authors, like coins, grow dear as they grow old.
Satires, Epistles, and Odes of Horace. Epistle i. Book ii. Line 35.
The mob of gentlemen who wrote with ease.
Satires, Epistles, and Odes of Horace. Epistle i. Book ii. Line 108.
One simile that solitary shines
In the dry desert of a thousand lines.
Satires, Epistles, and Odes of Horace. Epistle i. Book ii. Line 111.
Then marble soften'd into life grew warm,
And yielding, soft metal flow'd to human form.[329:3]
Satires, Epistles, and Odes of Horace. Epistle i. Book ii. Line 147.
Who says in verse what others say in prose.
Satires, Epistles, and Odes of Horace. Epistle i. Book ii. Line 202.
Waller was smooth; but Dryden taught to join
The varying verse, the full resounding line,
The long majestic march, and energy divine.
Satires, Epistles, and Odes of Horace. Epistle i. Book ii. Line 267.
E'en copious Dryden wanted or forgot
The last and greatest art,—the art to blot.
Satires, Epistles, and Odes of Horace. Epistle i. Book ii. Line 280.
Who pants for glory finds but short repose:
A breath revives him, or a breath o'erthrows.[329:4]
Satires, Epistles, and Odes of Horace. Epistle i. Book ii. Line 300.
There still remains to mortify a wit
The many-headed monster of the pit.[329:5]
Satires, Epistles, and Odes of Horace. Epistle i. Book ii. Line 304.
[330]
Praise undeserv'd is scandal in disguise.[330:1]
Satires, Epistles, and Odes of Horace. Epistle i. Book ii. Line 413.
Years following years steal something every day;
At last they steal us from ourselves away.
Satires, Epistles, and Odes of Horace. Epistle ii. Book ii. Line 72.
The vulgar boil, the learned roast, an egg.
Satires, Epistles, and Odes of Horace. Epistle ii. Book ii. Line 85.
Words that wise Bacon or brave Raleigh spoke.
Satires, Epistles, and Odes of Horace. Epistle ii. Book ii. Line 168.
Grac'd as thou art with all the power of words,
So known, so honour'd at the House of Lords.[330:2]
Satires, Epistles, and Odes of Horace. Epistle vi. Book i. To Mr. Murray.
Vain was the chief's the sage's pride!
They had no poet, and they died.
Satires, Epistles, and Odes of Horace. Odes. Book iv. Ode 9.
Nature and Nature's laws lay hid in night:
God said, "Let Newton be!" and all was light.
Epitaph intended for Sir Isaac Newton.
Ye Gods! annihilate but space and time,
And make two lovers happy.
Martinus Scriblerus on the Art of Sinking in Poetry. Chap. xi.
O thou! whatever title please thine ear,
Dean, Drapier, Bickerstaff, or Gulliver!
Whether thou choose Cervantes' serious air,
Or laugh and shake in Rabelais' easy-chair.
The Dunciad. Book i. Line 19.
Poetic Justice, with her lifted scale,
Where in nice balance truth with gold she weighs,
And solid pudding against empty praise.
The Dunciad. Book i. Line 52.
[331]
Now night descending, the proud scene was o'er,
But lived in Settle's numbers one day more.
The Dunciad. Book i. Line 89.
While pensive poets painful vigils keep,
Sleepless themselves to give their readers sleep.
The Dunciad. Book i. Line 93.
Next o'er his books his eyes begin to roll,
In pleasing memory of all he stole.
The Dunciad. Book i. Line 127.
Or where the pictures for the page atone,
And Quarles is sav'd by beauties not his own.
The Dunciad. Book i. Line 139.
How index-learning turns no student pale,
Yet holds the eel of science by the tail.
The Dunciad. Book i. Line 279.
And gentle Dulness ever loves a joke.
The Dunciad. Book ii. Line 34.
Another, yet the same.[331:1]
The Dunciad. Book iii. Line 90.
Till Peter's keys some christen'd Jove adorn,
And Pan to Moses lends
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