Quotes
Quotes - Goldsmith
The dancing pair that simply sought renown,By holding out to tire each other down;The swain mistrustless of his smutted face,While secret laughter titter'd round the place;The bashful virgin's side-long looks of love,The matrons glance that would those looks reprove:These were thy charms, sweet village; sports like these,With sweet succession, taught e'en toil to please;These were thy bowers their cheerful influence shed,These were thy charmsâbut all these charms are fled. - Deserted Village, The.
Every absurdity has a champion to defend it, for error is always talkative.
So the loud torrent, and the whirlwind's roar, But bind him to his native mountains more.
O Luxury! thou curst by Heaven's decree.
Such dainties to them, their health it might hurt: It's like sending them ruffles, when wanting a shirt.
As ten millions of circles can never make a square, so the united voice of myriads cannot lend the smallest foundation to falsehood.
Ask me no questions and I'll tell you no lies.
But winter lingering chills the lap of May.
By every remove I only drag a greater length of chain.
Remembrance wakes with all her busy train, Swells at my breast, and turns the past to pain.
Where'er I roam, whatever realms to see, My heart untravelled, fondly turns to thee; Still to my brother turns, with ceaseless pain, And drags at each remove a lengthening chain.
Hoards after hoards his rising raptures fill; Yet still he sighs, for hoards are wanting still.
Her modest looks the cottage might adorn, Sweet as the primrose peeps beneath the thorn.
Round its breast the rolling clouds are spread, Eternal sunshine settles on its head.
There is no arguing with him, for if his pistol misses fire, he knocks you down with the butt end of it.
Where village statesmen talk'd with looks profound. And news much older than their ale went round.
The watch-dog's voice that bay'd the whispering wind, And the loud laugh that spoke the vacant mind: There all in sweet confusion sought the shade, And fill'd each pause the nightingale had made.
A flattering painter, who made it his care To draw men as they ought to be, not as they are.
Such is the patriot's boast, where'er we roam, His first best country ever is at home.
A traveler of taste will notice that the wise are polite all over the world, but the fool only at home.
His house was known to all the vagrant train, He chid their wanderings but reliev'd their pain; The long remembered beggar was his guest, Whose beard descending swept his aged breast.
Careless their merits or their faults to scan, His pity gave ere charity began.
A kind and gentle heart he had, To comfort friends and foes; The naked every day he clad When he put on his clothes.
This same philosophy is a good horse in the stable, but an arrant jade on a journey.
The man recover'd of the bite, The dog it was that died.
