Quotes
Quotes about Wit
By this time, like one who had set out on his way by night, and travelled through a region of smooth or idle dreams, our history now arrives on the confines, where daylight and truth meet us with a clear dawn, representing to our view, though at a far distance, true colours and shapes.
Her lips were red, and one was thin;
Compared with that was next her chin,--
Some bee had stung it newly.
She is pretty to walk with,
And witty to talk with,
And pleasant, too, to think on.
Her face is like the milky way i' the sky,--
A meeting of gentle lights without a name.
Though with those streams he no resemblance hold,
Whose foam is amber and their gravel gold;
His genuine and less guilty wealth t' explore,
Search not his bottom, but survey his shore.
Oh, could I flow like thee, and make thy stream
My great example, as it is my theme!
Though deep, yet clear; though gentle, yet not dull;
Strong without rage; without o'erflowing, full.
Sydneian showers
Of sweet discourse, whose powers
Can crown old Winter's head with flowers.
When flowing cups pass swiftly round
With no allaying Thames.
We spent them not in toys, in lusts, or wine,
But search of deep philosophy,
Wit, eloquence, and poetry;
Arts which I lov'd, for they, my friend, were thine.
The thirsty earth soaks up the rain,
And drinks, and gapes for drink again;
The plants suck in the earth, and are
With constant drinking fresh and fair.
Th' adorning thee with so much art
Is but a barb'rous skill;
'T is like the pois'ning of a dart,
Too apt before to kill.
An harmless flaming meteor shone for hair,
And fell adown his shoulders with loose care.
Charm'd with the foolish whistling of a name
And all the way, to guide their chime,
With falling oars they kept the time.
When all is done, human life is, at the greatest and the best, but like a froward child, that must be played with and humoured a little to keep it quiet till it falls asleep, and then the care is over.
Whate'er he did was done with so much ease,
In him alone 't was natural to please.
A fiery soul, which, working out its way,
Fretted the pygmy-body to decay,
And o'er-inform'd the tenement of clay.
A daring pilot in extremity;
Pleas'd with the danger, when the waves went high
He sought the storms.
Great wits are sure to madness near allied,
And thin partitions do their bounds divide.
And all to leave what with his toil he won
To that unfeather'd two-legged thing, a son.
So over violent, or over civil,
That every man with him was God or Devil.
Men met each other with erected look,
The steps were higher that they took;
Friends to congratulate their friends made haste,
And long inveterate foes saluted as they pass'd.
Wit will shine
Through the harsh cadence of a rugged line.
Her wit was more than man, her innocence a child.
With ravish'd ears
The monarch hears;
Assumes the god,
Affects to nod,
And seems to shake the spheres.
Sooth'd with the sound, the king grew vain;
Fought all his battles o'er again;
And thrice he routed all his foes, and thrice he slew the slain.
