Quotes
Quotes about Rank
The rankest compound of villanous smell that ever offended nostril.
Fierce fiery warriors fought upon the clouds,
In ranks and squadrons and right form of war,
Which drizzled blood upon the Capitol.
O, my offence is rank, it smells to heaven;
It hath the primal eldest curse upon 't,
A brother's murder.
O great corrector of enormous times,
Shaker of o'er-rank states, thou grand decider
Of dusty and old titles, that healest with blood
The earth when it is sick, and curest the world
O' the pleurisy of people!
Haste thee, Nymph, and bring with thee
Jest and youthful Jollity,
Quips and Cranks and wanton Wiles,
Nods and Becks and wreathed Smiles.
'T's pride, rank pride, and haughtiness of soul;
I think the Romans call it stoicism.
Judicious drank, and greatly daring din'd.
My friend was of opinion that when a man of rank appeared in that character [as an author], he deserved to have his merits handsomely allowed.
In this fool's paradise he drank delight.
The rank is but the guinea's stamp,
The man's the gowd for a' that.
Yet sometimes, when the secret cup
Of still and serious thought went round,
It seemed as if he drank it up,
He felt with spirit so profound.
Such is the custom of Branksome Hall.
How shall we rank thee upon glory's page,
Thou more than soldier, and just less than sage?
Like a young eagle who has lent his plume
To fledge the shaft by which he meets his doom,
See their own feathers pluck'd to wing the dart
Which rank corruption destines for their heart.
I see them on their winding way,
About their ranks the moonbeams play.
There is no wisdom like frankness.
Rank is a great beautifier.
The brilliant chief, irregularly great,
Frank, haughty, rash,--the Rupert of debate!
All service ranks the same with God,--
With God, whose puppets, best and worst,
Are we: there is no last nor first.
There is no better ballast for keeping the mind steady on its keel, and saving it from all risk of crankiness, than business.
Friends I have had both old and young,
And ale we drank and songs we sung:
Enough you know when this is said,
That, one and all, they died in bed.
In bed they died and I'll not go
Where all my friends have perished so.
Not she with trait'rous kiss her Saviour stung,
Not she denied him with unholy tongue;
She, while apostles shrank, could danger brave,
Last at his cross and earliest at his grave.
Many the lumps of frankincense on the same altar; one falls there early and another late, but it makes no difference.
Life let us cherish, while yet the taper glows,
And the fresh flow'ret pluck ere it close;
Why are we fond of toil and care?
Why choose the rankling thorn to wear?
He's removed from granting to a frank obituarist the chance to list the actual and proved. He's turned to matter for the fabulist.
