Over 40,000 Famous Quotes Sorted By Topic and Author

Of all tales 'tis the saddest--and more sad, Because it makes us smile.

Dead scandals form good subjects for dissection.

All Heaven and Earth are still, though not in sleep, But breathless, as we grow when feeling most.

The tenor's voice is spoilt by affectation, And for the bass, the beast can only bellow; In fact, he had no singing education, An ignorant, noteless, timeless, tuneless fellow.

"Darkly, deeply, beautifully blue," As some one somewhere sings about the sky.

And they were canopied by the blue sky, So cloudless, clear, and purely beautiful, That God alone was to be seen in Heaven.

Sleep hath its own world, A boundary between the things misnamed Death and existence: Sleep hath its own world, And a wide realm of wild reality, And dreams in their development have breath, And tears and tortures, and the touch of joy.

Smiles form the channels of a future tear.

Cervantes smiled Spain's chivalry away; A single laugh demolished the right arm Of his own country;--seldom since that day Has Spain had heroes.

But owned that smile, if oft observed and near, Waned in its mirth, and wither'd to a sneer.

From thy own smile I snatched the snake.

But now being lifted into high society, And having pick'd up several odds and ends Of free thoughts in his travels for variety, He deem'd, being in a lone isle, among friends, That without any danger of a riot, he Might for long lying make himself amends; And singing as he sung in his warm youth, Agree to a short armistice with truth.

She walks the waters like a thing of life, And seems to dare the elements to strife.

She bears her down majestically near, Speed on her prow, and terror in her tier.

Some hoisted out the boats, and there was one That begged Pedrillo for an absolution Who told him to be damn'd,--in his confusion.

Then rose from sea to sky the wild farewell-- Then shriek'd the timid, and stood still the brave,-- Then some leap'd overboard with fearful yell, As eager to anticipate their grave.

Ye tuneful cobblers! still your notes prolong, Compose at once a slipper and a song; So shall the fair your handiwork peruse, Your sonnets sure shall please--perhaps your shoes.

The best of remedies is a beefsteak Against sea-sickness; try it, sir, before You sneer, and I assure you this is true, For I have found it answer--so may you.

I've just learned about his illness. Let's hope it's nothing trivial.

Earth! render back from out thy breast A remnant of our Spartan dead! Of the three hundred grant but three, To make a new Thermopylae!