| Quotes |
Topic |
| Rivers | Where stray ye, Muses! in what lawn or grove, . . . . In those fair fields where sacred Isis glides, Or else where Cam his winding vales divides? |
| Rome | See the wild Waste of all-devouring years! How Rome her own sad Sepulchre appears, With nodding arches, broken temples spread! The very Tombs now vanish'd like their dead! |
| Rumor | The flying rumours gather'd as the roll'd, Scarce any tale was sooner heard than told, And all who told it added something new. And all who heard it made enlargements too. |
| Rumors | When rumours increase, and when there is an abundance of noise and clamour, believe the second report. |
| Sabbath | See Christians, Jews, one heavy sabbath keep, And all the western world believe and sleep. |
| Sabbath | E'en Sunday shines no Sabbath day to me. |
| Satire | Satire or sense, alas! Can Sporus feel? Who breaks a butterfly upon a wheel? |
| Satire | There are, to whom my satire seems too bold, Scarce to wise Peter complaisant enough, And something said of Chartres much too rough. |
| Satire | Satire's my weapon, but I'm too discreet To run amuck and tilt at all I meet. |
| Science | How index-learning turns no student pale, Yet holds the eel of science by the tale. |
| Science | One science only will one genius fit, So vast is art, so narrow human wit. |
| Sculpture | Then marble, soften'd into life, grew warm. |
| Sculpture | I choose a block of marble and chop off whatever I don't need. |
| Self Knowledge | Trust not yourself, but your defects to know, Make use of every friend and every foe. |
| Self Sacrifice | Many men have been capable of doing a wise thing, more a cunning thing, but very few a generous thing. |
| Sense | What thin partitions sense from thought divide. |
| Sense | 'Tis use alone that sanctifies expense And splendor borrow all her rays from sense. |
| Sense | Good sense which only is the gift of Heaven, And though no science, fairly worth the seven. |
| Sense | Fool, 'tis in vain from wit to wit to roam, Know, sense, like charity, begins at home. |
| Sin | How shall I lose the sin yet keep the sense, And love th' offender, yet detest the offence? |
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