Quotes
Quotes about Wit
We grant, although he had much wit,
He was very shy of using it.
He knew what's what, and that's as high
As metaphysic wit can fly.
For rhyme the rudder is of verses,
With which, like ships, they steer their courses.
With many a stiff thwack, many a bang,
Hard crab-tree and old iron rang.
Ay me! what perils do environ
The man that meddles with cold iron!
With mortal crisis doth portend
My days to appropinque an end.
Cheer'd up himself with ends of verse
And sayings of philosophers.
Some force whole regions, in despite
O' geography, to change their site;
Make former times shake hands with latter,
And that which was before come after.
But those that write in rhyme still make
The one verse for the other's sake;
For one for sense, and one for rhyme,
I think's sufficient at one time.
Each window like a pill'ry appears,
With heads thrust thro' nail'd by the ears.
But Hudibras gave him a twitch
As quick as lightning in the breech,
Just in the place where honour's lodg'd,
As wise philosophers have judg'd;
Because a kick in that part more
Hurts honour than deep wounds before.
'Cause grace and virtue are within
Prohibited degrees of kin;
And therefore no true saint allows
They shall be suffer'd to espouse.
With crosses, relics, crucifixes,
Beads, pictures, rosaries, and pixes,--
The tools of working our salvation
By mere mechanic operation.
But still his tongue ran on, the less
Of weight it bore, with greater ease.
With books and money plac'd for show
Like nest-eggs to make clients lay,
And for his false opinion pay.
For angling-rod he took a sturdy oake;
For line, a cable that in storm ne'er broke;
His hooke was such as heads the end of pole
To pluck down house ere fire consumes it whole;
The hook was baited with a dragon's tale,--
And then on rock he stood to bob for whale.
Rich with the spoils of Nature.
The heart of man is the place the Devil's in: I feel sometimes a hell within myself.
That eagle's fate and mine are one,
Which on the shaft that made him die
Espied a feather of his own,
Wherewith he wont to soar so high.
In such green palaces the first kings reign'd,
Slept in their shades, and angels entertain'd;
With such old counsellors they did advise,
And by frequenting sacred groves grew wise.
Their heads sometimes so little that there is no room for wit; sometimes so long that there is no wit for so much room.
The Pyramids themselves, doting with age, have forgotten the names of their founders.
His spear, to equal which the tallest pine
Hewn on Norwegian hills to be the mast
Of some great ammiral were but a wand,
He walk'd with to support uneasy steps
Over the burning marle.
When night
Darkens the streets, then wander forth the sons
Of Belial, flown with insolence and wine.
In dim eclipse, disastrous twilight sheds
On half the nations, and with fear of change
Perplexes monarchs.
From morn
To noon he fell, from noon to dewy eve,--
A summer's day; and with the setting sun
Dropp'd from the Zenith like a falling star.
