Quotes
Quotes about Wit
[Tar water] is of a nature so mild and benign and proportioned to the human constitution, as to warm without heating, to cheer but not inebriate.
The picture placed the busts between
Adds to the thought much strength;
Wisdom and Wit are little seen,
But Folly's at full length.
Tender-handed stroke a nettle,
And it stings you for your pains;
Grasp it like a man of mettle,
And it soft as silk remains.
'T is the same with common natures:
Use 'em kindly, they rebel;
But be rough as nutmeg-graters,
And the rogues obey you well.
Awake, my St. John! leave all meaner things
To low ambition and the pride of kings.
Let us (since life can little more supply
Than just to look about us, and to die)
Expatiate free o'er all this scene of man;
A mighty maze! but not without a plan.
Who sees with equal eye, as God of all,
A hero perish or a sparrow fall,
Atoms or systems into ruin hurl'd,
And now a bubble burst, and now a world.
The young disease, that must subdue at length,
Grows with his growth, and strengthens with his strength.
Vice is a monster of so frightful mien,
As to be hated needs but to be seen;
Yet seen too oft, familiar with her face,
We first endure, then pity, then embrace.
Behold the child, by Nature's kindly law,
Pleased with a rattle, tickled with a straw;
Some livelier plaything gives his youth delight,
A little louder, but as empty quite;
Scarfs, garters, gold, amuse his riper stage,
And beads and prayer-books are the toys of age.
Pleased with this bauble still, as that before,
Till tired he sleeps, and life's poor play is o'er.
A wit's a feather, and a chief a rod;
An honest man's the noblest work of God.
Plays round the head, but comes not to the heart.
One self-approving hour whole years outweighs
Of stupid starers and of loud huzzas;
And more true joy Marcellus exil'd feels
Than Cæsar with a senate at his heels.
In parts superior what advantage lies?
Tell (for you can) what is it to be wise?
'T is but to know how little can be known;
To see all others' faults, and feel our own.
If parts allure thee, think how Bacon shin'd,
The wisest, brightest, meanest of mankind!
Or ravish'd with the whistling of a name,
See Cromwell, damn'd to everlasting fame!
Manners with fortunes, humours turn with climes,
Tenets with books, and principles with times.
With too much quickness ever to be taught;
With too much thinking to have common thought.
Atossa, cursed with every granted prayer,
Childless with all her children, wants an heir;
To heirs unknown descends the unguarded store,
Or wanders heaven-directed to the poor.
Oh, blest with temper whose unclouded ray
Can make to-morrow cheerful as to-day!
But thousands die without or this or that,--
Die, and endow a college or a cat.
Who builds a church to God and not to fame,
Will never mark the marble with his name.
In the worst inn's worst room, with mat half hung.
'T is with our judgments as our watches,--none
Go just alike, yet each believes his own.
One science only will one genius fit:
So vast is art, so narrow human wit.
From vulgar bounds with brave disorder part,
And snatch a grace beyond the reach of art.
Of all the causes which conspire to blind
Man's erring judgment, and misguide the mind;
What the weak head with strongest bias rules,--
Is pride, the never-failing vice of fools.
True wit is Nature to advantage dress'd,
What oft was thought, but ne'er so well express'd.
But let a lord once own the happy lines,
How the wit brightens! how the style refines!
The bookful blockhead, ignorantly read,
With loads of learned lumber in his head.
