Quotes
Quotes - Goldsmith
All his faults are such that one loves him still the better for them.
Silence gives consent.
Measures, not men, have always been my mark.
I love everything that's old: old friends, old times, old manners, old books, old wine.
The very pink of perfection.
The genteel thing is the genteel thing any time, if as be that a gentleman bees in a concatenation accordingly.
I 'll be with you in the squeezing of a lemon.
Ask me no questions, and I 'll tell you no fibs.
We sometimes had those little rubs which Providence sends to enhance the value of its favours.
Handsome is that handsome does.
The premises being thus settled, I proceed to observe that the concatenation of self-existence, proceeding in a reciprocal duplicate ratio, naturally produces a problematical dialogism, which in some measure proves that the essence of spirituality may be referred to the second predicable.
I find you want me to furnish you with argument and intellect too.
Turn, gentle Hermit of the Dale,
And guide my lonely way
To where yon taper cheers the vale
With hospitable ray.
Taught by that Power that pities me,
I learn to pity them.
Man wants but little here below,
Nor wants that little long.
And what is friendship but a name,
A charm that lulls to sleep,
A shade that follows wealth or fame,
And leaves the wretch to weep?
The sigh that rends thy constant heart
Shall break thy Edwin's too.
By the living jingo, she was all of a muck of sweat.
They would talk of nothing but high life, and high-lived company, with other fashionable topics, such as pictures, taste, Shakespeare, and the musical glasses.
It has been a thousand times observed, and I must observe it once more, that the hours we pass with happy prospects in view are more pleasing than those crowned with fruition.
To what happy accident is it that we owe so unexpected a visit?
When lovely woman stoops to folly,
And finds too late that men betray,
What charm can soothe her melancholy?
What art can wash her guilt away?
The only art her guilt to cover,
To hide her shame from every eye,
To give repentance to her lover,
And wring his bosom, is--to die.
To what fortuitous occurrence do we not owe every pleasure and convenience of our lives.
For he who fights and runs away
May live to fight another day;
But he who is in battle slain
Can never rise and fight again.
