Quotes to inspire and reflect

Creation sleeps! ’Tis as the general pulse Of life stood still, and Nature made a pause; An awful pause! prophetic of her end.

In records that defy the tooth of time.

Tired nature’s sweet restorer, balmy sleep!

The man that makes a character makes foes.

One to destroy, is murder by the law; And gibbets keep the lifted hand in awe; To murder thousands takes a specious name, War’s glorious art, and gives immortal fame.

Be wise with speed; A fool at forty is a fool indeed.

Some for renown, on scraps of learning dote, And think they grow immortal as they quote.

The love of praise, howe’er conceal’d by art, Reigns more or less, and glows in ev’ry heart.

From hence, let fierce contending nations know What dire effects from civil discord flow.

What pity is it That we can die but once to serve our country!

When vice prevails, and impious men bear sway, The post of honor is a private station. 2

The woman that deliberates is lost. 1

Curse on his virtues! they’ve undone his country.

Blesses his stars and thinks it luxury.

My voice is still for war. Gods! can a Roman senate long debate Which of the two to choose, slavery or death?

Soon as the evening shades prevail, The moon takes up the wondrous tale, And nightly to the listening earth Repeats the story of her birth; While all the stars that round her burn, And all the planets in their turn, Confirm the tidings as they roll, And spread the truth from pole to pole.

’Tis not in mortals to command success, But we’ll do more, Sempronius; we’ll deserve it.

The spacious firmament on high, With all the blue ethereal sky, And spangled heavens, a shining frame, Their great Original proclaim.

Heaven has no rage like love to hatred turned, Nor hell a fury like a woman scorned.

No mask like open truth to cover lies, As to go naked is the best disguise.

Music has charms to soothe a savage breast, To soften rocks, or bend a knotted oak.

Under an oak, in stormy weather, I joined this rogue and whore together; And none but he who rules the thunder Can put this rogue and whore asunder.

Hail, fellow, well met, All dirty and wet: Find out if you can, Who’s master, who’s man.

So, naturalists observe, a flea Hath smaller fleas that on him prey; And these have smaller still to bite ’em; And so proceed ad infinitum. Thus every poet, in his kind, Is bit by him that comes behind.

Conversation is but carving! Give no more to every guest Than he’s able to digest. Give him always of the prime, And but little at a time. Carve to all but just enough, Let them neither starve nor stuff, And that you may have your due, Let your neighbor carve for you.

Hobbes clearly proves that every creature Lives in a state of war by nature.

Yet malice never was his aim; He lash’d the vice but spar’d the name. No individual could resent, Where thousands equally were meant. His satire points at no defect But what all mortals may correct; For he abhorr’d that senseless tribe Who call it humor when they gibe.

A set of phrases learnt by rote; A passion for a scarlet coat; When at a play to laugh, or cry, Yet cannot tell the reason why: Never to hold her tongue a minute; While all she prates has nothing in it.

For conversation well endu’d; She calls it witty to be rude; And, placing raillery in railing, Will tell aloud your greatest failing.

Behold his funeral appears, Nor widow’s sighs, nor orphan’s tears, Wont at such times each heart to pierce, Attend the progress of his hearse. And what of that? his friends may say, He had those honors in his day. True to his profit and his pride, He made them weep before he died.

’Tis an old maxim in the schools, That flattery’s 1 the food of fools; Yet now and then your men of wit Will condescend to take a bit.

The best of men cannot suspend their fate: The good die early, and the bad die late.

All men would be tyrants if they could.

And of all plagues with which mankind are curs’d, Ecclesiastic tyranny’s the worst.

In their religion they are so uneven, That each man goes his own byway to heaven.

From this amphibious ill-born mob began That vain, ill-natur’d thing, an Englishman.

Wherever God erects a house of prayer, The Devil always builds a chapel there; And ’twill be found, upon examination, The latter has the largest congregation.

She hugg’d the offender, and forgave the offense: Sex to the last. 9

Here lies my wife: here let her lie! Now she’s at rest, and so am I.

All, all of a piece throughout: Thy chase had a beast in view; Thy wars brought nothing about; Thy lovers were all untrue. ’Tis well an old age is out, And time to begin a new.

For Art may err, but Nature cannot miss.

Better to hunt in fields, for health unbought, Than fee the doctor for a nauseous draught. The wise, for cure, on exercise depend; God never made his work for man to mend.

Lord of yourself, uncumber’d with a wife.

Could swell the soul to rage, or kindle soft desire.

He rais’d a mortal to the skies, She drew an angel down.

Sigh’d and look’d, and sigh’d again.

And, like another Helen, fir’d another Troy.

Sweet is pleasure after pain.