| Quotes |
Topic |
| Advice | 'Twas good advice, and meant, "My son, be good." |
| Anger | Anger makes us strong, Blind and impatient, And it leads us wrong; The strength is quickly lost; We feel the error long. |
| Authorship | 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. |
| Churches | "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." |
| Churches | "What is a church?"--Our honest sexton tells, 'Tis a tall building, with a tower and bells. |
| Conscience | 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! |
| Cowards | The coward never on himself relies, But to an equal for assistance flies. |
| Experience | 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. |
| Experience | In her experience all her friends relied, Heaven was her help and nature was her guide. |
| Faces | The face the index of a feeling mind. |
| Fish | A sly old fish, too cunning for the hook. |
| Fishing | Old Peter Grimes made fishing his employ; His wife he cabined with him and his boy, And seemed that life laborious to enjoy. |
| Goodness | Now, at a certain time, in pleasant mood, He tried the luxury of doing good. |
| Habit | Habit with him was all the test of truth; "It must be right: I've done it from my youth." |
| Heart | Some hearts are hidden, some have not a heart. |
| Holly | 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. |
| Monuments | But monument themselves memorials need. |
| Paradise | In this fool's paradise, he drank delight. |
| Patience | His patient soul endures what Heav'n ordains, But neither feels nor fears ideal pains. |
| Poetry | 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? |
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