Quotes
Quotes about Name
Note 81.Pope calls this the eighth beatitude (Roscoe's edition of Pope, vol. x. page 184).
May see thee now, though late, redeem thy name,
And glorify what else is damn'd to fame.
The Grave, dread thing!
Men shiver when thou 'rt named: Nature, appall'd,
Shakes off her wonted firmness.
Loveliness
Needs not the foreign aid of ornament,
But is when unadorn'd, adorn'd the most.
He left the name at which the world grew pale,
To point a moral, or adorn a tale.
Officious, innocent, sincere,
Of every friendless name the friend.
The royal navy of England hath ever been its greatest defence and ornament; it is its ancient and natural strength,--the floating bulwark of our island.
My name is Norval; on the Grampian hills
My father feeds his flocks; a frugal swain,
Whose constant cares were to increase his store,
And keep his only son, myself, at home.
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?
"What is thy name, faire maid?" quoth he.
"Penelophon, O King!" quoth she.
Some to the fascination of a name
Surrender judgment hoodwink'd.
Perhaps Dundee's wild-warbling measures rise,
Or plaintive Martyrs, worthy of the name.
Fate sits on these dark battlements and frowns,
And as the portal opens to receive me,
A voice in hollow murmurs through the courts
Tells of a nameless deed.
Call things by their right names.... Glass of brandy and water! That is the current but not the appropriate name: ask for a glass of liquid fire and distilled damnation.
The man that lays his hand upon a woman,
Save in the way of kindness, is a wretch
Whom 't were gross flattery to name a coward.
That best portion of a good man's life,--
His little, nameless, unremembered acts
Of kindness and of love.
She was a phantom of delight
When first she gleamed upon my sight,
A lovely apparition, sent
To be a moment's ornament;
Her eyes as stars of twilight fair,
Like twilights too her dusky hair,
But all things else about her drawn
From May-time and the cheerful dawn.
We bow our heads before Thee, and we laud
And magnify thy name Almighty God!
But man is thy most awful instrument
In working out a pure intent.
Breathes there the man with soul so dead
Who never to himself hath said,
This is my own, my native land!
Whose heart hath ne'er within him burn'd
As home his footsteps he hath turn'd
From wandering on a foreign strand?
If such there breathe, go, mark him well!
For him no minstrel raptures swell;
High though his titles, proud his name,
Boundless his wealth as wish can claim,--
Despite those titles, power, and pelf,
The wretch, concentred all in self,
Living, shall forfeit fair renown,
And, doubly dying, shall go down
To the vile dust from whence he sprung,
Unwept, unhonour'd, and unsung.
My foot is on my native heath, and my name is MacGregor.
Sound, sound the clarion, fill the fife!
To all the sensual world proclaim,
One crowded hour of glorious life
Is worth an age without a name.
Tranquillity! thou better name
Than all the family of Fame.
And last of all an Admiral came,
A terrible man with a terrible name,--
A name which you all know by sight very well,
But which no one can speak, and no one can spell.
He might have proved a useful adjunct, if not an ornament to society.
