Over 40,000 Famous Quotes Sorted By Topic and Author

'Twas good advice, and meant, My son, be good.

Anger makes us strong, Blind and impatient, And it leads us wrong; The strength is quickly lost; We feel the error long.

Oh! rather give me commentators plain, Who with no deep researches vex the brain; Who from the dark and doubtful love to run, And hold their glimmering tapers to the sun.

"What is a church?" Let Truth and reason speak, They would reply, "The faithful, pure and meek, From Christian folds, the one selected race, Of all professions, and in every place."

"What is a church?"--Our honest sexton tells, 'Tis a tall building, with a tower and bells.

Oh, Conscience! Conscience! man's most faithful friend, Him canst thou comfort, ease, relieve, defend; But if he will thy friendly checks forego, Thou art, oh! woe for me, his deadliest foe!

The coward never on himself relies, But to an equal for assistance flies.

To show the world what long experience gains, Requires not courage, though it calls for pains; But at life's outset to inform mankind Is a bold effort of a valiant mind.

In her experience all her friends relied, Heaven was her help and nature was her guide.

The face the index of a feeling mind.

A sly old fish, too cunning for the hook.

Old Peter Grimes made fishing his employ; His wife he cabined with him and his boy, And seemed that life laborious to enjoy.

Now, at a certain time, in pleasant mood, He tried the luxury of doing good.

Habit with him was all the test of truth; "It must be right: I've done it from my youth."

Some hearts are hidden, some have not a heart.

All green was vanished save of pine and yew, That still displayed their melancholy hue; Save the green holly with its berries red, And the green moss that o'er the gravel spread.

But monument themselves memorials need.

In this fool's paradise, he drank delight.

His patient soul endures what Heav'n ordains, But neither feels nor fears ideal pains.

Feel you the barren flattery of a rhyme? Can poets soothe you, when you pine for bread, By winding myrtle round your ruin'd shed?