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Treasury of Thought
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TREASURY OF THOUGHT. | |
An Encyclopedia of Quotations | |
FROM | |
ANCIENT AND MODERN AUTHORS. | |
BY | |
MATURIN M. BALLOU. | |
I love to lose myself in other men’s minds. — LAMn. | |
They have been at a great feast of languages, and stolen the scraps. — SHAKESPEARE. | |
Short sentences drawn from a long experience. — CERVANTES! | |
' | |
SEVENTH EDITION. | |
BOSTON: | |
HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN AND COMPANY. | |
She Kitersize Press, Cambritae, | |
1881. | |
--- Chunk 1, Page 9 --- | |
QUOTATION, SIR, I8 A Goop THING; THERE 1S A COMMUNITY OF MIND IN IT; CLAS- | |
SICAL QUOTATION IS THE PAROLE OF LITERARY MEN ALL OVER TIE WORLD. — | |
Samuel Johnson, | |
HOW MANY OF US HAVE BEEN ATTRACTED TO REASON; FIRST LEARNED TO THINK, TO | |
DRAW CONCLUSIONS, TO EXTRACT A MORAL FROM THE FOLLIES OF LIFE, BY SOME DAZ | |
zLinc aPHoORiSM !— Bulwer Lytton. | |
I HERE PRESENT THEE WITI A HIVE OF BEES, LADEN SOME WITH WAX AND SOME | |
WITII IONEY. FEAR NOT TO APPROACH! TIIERE ARE NO IORNETS WERE. IF SOME WAN- | |
TON BEE SHOULD CHANCE TO BUZZ ABOUT THINE EARS, STAND THY GROUND, AND HOLD | |
THINE IANDS; THERE'IS NONE WILL STING THEDE 1F THOU STRIKE NOT FIRST. IF ANY | |
DO, SIE HATH HONEY IN HER BAG WILL CURE THEE TOO. — Francis Quarles. | |
THUS HAVE I, AS WELL AS I COULD, GATHERED A POSEY OF OBSERVATIONS AS THEY | |
GREW} AND IF SOME RUE AND WORMWOOD BE FOUND AMONG THE SWEET IERBS, THEIR | |
WHOLESOMENESS WILL MAKE AMENDS FOR THEI} BITTERNESS. ~ Lord Lyttelton. | |
ny | |
ots | |
eS | |
Frew | |
ae) | |
Q | |
ao) | |
--- Chunk 1, Page 10 --- | |
--- Chunk 1, Page 11 --- | |
PRHFACE. | |
LET EVERY BOOK-WORM, WIHTEN IN ANY FRAGRANT SCARCE OLD TOME HE DISCOVERS A SEN- | |
TUNCK, A STORY, AN ILLUSTRATION, THAT DOES HIS HEART GOQD, HASTEN TO GIVE IT.— | |
‘ Coleridge. | |
Tue work herewith presented is the offspring of a desultory course of read- | |
ing, extending through a period of more than twenty years. When, in the | |
pleasant paths of study, an apothegm or vivid saying has been met with, | |
bearing the impress of mind and mature thought, illustrating in a concise , | |
and significant manner a great truth, or exhibiting some marked phase of | |
philosophy or peculiar aspect of life, with brief but happy expressions of | |
familiar things, such gems have been transferred from their original setting | |
for record and classification. . | |
The incipient steps in this direction were the natural ones of a thought- | |
ful reader, such as turned-down leaves and marginal notes, until a curiosity | |
~ to compare the refined thought of one favorite author or classic authority | |
with that of another upon the same theme lcd to a series of pencilled | |
extracts upon various cardinal subjects. Mental research was thus gradually | |
stimulated to collect from the shores of litcrature such golden sands as, | |
from their brilliancy and suggestiveness, dazzled both the sense and the im- | |
agination, | |
For years this constantly growing collection was solely pursued as a matter | |
of personal interest, and with no idea of future publication, until its volume | |
had so increased, and its varicty become so comprehensive, as to attract the | |
attention of others who were casually aware of its existence. In a literary | |
point of view, the undersigned claims no merit, save that of an industrions | |
compiler, whose labor has been its own great reward, in the pleasurable mem- | |
ories it has aroused of those authors, ancient and modern, with whom so | |
many delightful hours have been passed. | |
M. M. B. | |
--- Chunk 1, Page 12 --- | |
--- Chunk 1, Page 13 --- | |
TO | |
THE PATIENT AND CHEERFUL ASSOCIATE OF MY STUDIES, AFTER MORE THAN | |
TIUIRTY YEARS OF MAPPY COMPANIONSILP, | |
THIS VOLUME | |
IS AFFECTIONATELY DEDICATED. | |
BY | |
THE COMPILER. | |
--- Chunk 1, Page 14 --- | |
--- Chunk 1, Page 15 --- | |
A. | |
ABILITY. | |
ABSENCE. | |
ABSTINENCE, | |
ABUSE. | |
ACCIDENT. | |
ACQUIREMENTS. | |
ACTION. | |
ACTORS. | |
ADAPTATION. | |
ADDRESS. | |
ADMIRATION. | |
ADVERSITY. | |
ADVICE. | |
AFPFECTATION. | |
AFFECTION. | |
AFFLICTION. | |
AGE. | |
AGREEABLE. | |
AORICULTURE, | |
ALCHEMY. | |
ALLEGORY. | |
AMBASSADOR. | |
AMBITION. | |
AMERICA, | |
AMIABILITY. | |
AMNESTY. | |
AMUSEMENTS. | |
ANALOGY. | |
ANCESTRY. | |
ANGELS. | |
ANGER. | |
ANGLING. | |
ANTICIPATION. | |
ANTIQUITY. | |
ANXIETY. | |
APOLOGY. | |
APOTILEGMS. | |
APPEARANCES. | |
APPETITE. | |
APPLAUSE. | |
APPRECIATION. | |
ARCHITECTURE. | |
ARGUMENT, | |
ARISTOCRACY. | |
ARMY. | |
ARROGANCE. | |
ART. | |
ARTIFICE | |
ASKING. | |
ASPIRATION. | |
ASSERTION. | |
ASSOCIATES. | |
ASSOCIATION. | |
ASSURANCE. | |
ASTRONOMY. | |
ATHEISM. | |
ATTENTION. | |
AUSTERITY. | |
AUTHORITY. | |
AUTHORS, | |
AUTUMN. | |
AVARICE. | |
AWKWARDNESS. | |
INDEX OF SUBJECTS. | |
B. | |
(BABE. | |
‘BACHELOR. | |
BALLADS. | |
BARGAIN. | |
BASENESS. | |
BASHFULNESS. | |
BATTLE. | |
BEARD. | |
BEAU. | |
BEAUTY. | |
BEES, | |
BEGGARS. | |
BELAVIOR. | |
BELIEF. | |
BENEDICTION. | |
BENEVOLENCE. | |
BEREAVEMENT. | |
BIBLE. | |
BIGOTRY. | |
BIOGRAPHY. | |
BIRTH. | |
BIRTHPLACE. | |
BLESSEDNESS. | |
BLOCKHEAD. | |
BLUNTNESS. | |
BLUSH. | |
BLUSTERING. | |
BOASTING. | |
BODY. | |
BOLDNESS. | |
BONDAGE. | |
BOOKS. | |
BORES. | |
BORROWING. | |
BOUNTY. | |
BRAINS. | |
BRAVERY. | |
BREVITY, | |
BRIBERY. | |
BROTHERHOOD. | |
BRUTE. | |
BURLESQUE. | |
BUSINESS. | |
BUSYBODY. | |
Cc. | |
CALAMITIES. | |
CALUMNY. | |
CANDOR. | |
CANT. | |
CARI. | |
CARICATURE, | |
CASTLES IN THE AIR. | |
CAUSE. | |
CAUTION. | |
CELERITY. | |
CENSURE. | |
CEREMONY. | |
CIIANGE, | |
CIEANGE, | |
CILARACTER. | |
CHARITY. | |
CUASTITY. | |
CHEERFULNESS. | |
CHILDREN. | |
CHIVALRY. | |
CHOICE. | |
CHRIST. | |
CHRISTIANITY. | |
CIURCH. | |
CHURLISIINESS. | |
CIRCUMSTANCES, | |
CITIES. | |
CIVILIZATION. | |
CLEANLINESS | |
CLEMENCY. | |
CLOUDS. | |
COLOR. | |
COMFORT. | |
COMMANDER. | |
COMMERCE. | |
COMMON-SENSE. | |
COMPARISON. | |
COMPASSION, | |
COMPENSATION, | |
COMPLACENCY. | |
COMPLAINING. | |
COMPLIMENTS. | |
CONCEIT. | |
CONDUCT. | |
CONFESSION. | |
CONFIDENCE. | |
CONSCIENCE. | |
CONSERVATISM. | |
CONSISTENCY. | |
CONSOLATION, | |
CONSPIRACY. | |
CONSTANCY. | |
CONTEMPLATION. | |
CONTEMPT. | |
CONTENTMENT. | |
CONTRADICTION. | |
CONTRAST. | |
CONVERSATION. | |
CONVERSION. | |
COQUETRY. | |
-| CORRUPTION, | |
COUNTRY. | |
COURAGE. | |
COURTESY. | |
COURTIER | |
COURTSINP. | |
COVETOUSNESS. | |
COWARDICE. | |
COXCOMB. | |
CREDITOR. | |
CREDULITY. | |
CREED. | |
CRIME. | |
CRISIS. | |
CRITICISM. | |
CRITICS. | |
CRUELTY. | |
CULTIVATION. | |
CUNNING | |
CURIOSITY. | |
CURSES. | |
CUSTOM. | |
CYNICISM. | |
D. | |
DANCING. | |
DANGER, | |
DAUGHTER. | |
DEATII. | |
DEBT. | |
DECEIT. | |
DECENCY. | |
DECISION. | |
DEFEAT. | |
DEFERENCE, | |
DEFORMITY. | |
DELAY. | |
DELICACY. | |
DELUSION. | |
DEMOCRACY. | |
DEPENDENCE. | |
DESERTS. | |
DESIRE | |
DESPAIR, | |
DESPATCH, | |
DESVONDENCY. | |
DESPOTISM. | |
DESTINY. | |
DEVOTION. | |
DEW, | |
DIET. | |
DIFFICULTY. | |
DIFFIDENCE. | |
DIGNITY. | |
DILIGENCE, | |
DIRT. - | |
DISAPPOINTMENT, | |
DISCERNMENT. | |
DISCIPLINE, | |
DISCONTENT, | |
DISCOVERY. | |
DISCRETION, | |
DISEASE. | |
DISGUISE. | |
DISIIONESTY. | |
DISPLAY. | |
DISPUTE, | |
DISSIMULATION. | |
DISTINCTION. | |
DISTRUST. | |
DOCTRINE. | |
DOGMATISM. | |
DOMESTIC. | |
DOUBT. | |
DRAMA, | |
DREAMS. | |
DRESS. | |
DRUNKENNESS. | |
DUFLS. | |
DULNESS, | |
DUTY. | |
E. | |
FBARNESTNESS. | |
BARTIL. | |
ECCENTRICITY. | |
¥CILO. | |
ECONOMY. | |
--- Chunk 1, Page 16 --- | |
x INDEX | |
EDITOR. FRIENDSHIP, | |
EDUCATION. FRUGALITY. | |
EGOTISM,. FUN. | |
ELEGANCE. FUTURITY. | |
ELOQUENCE. | |
EMPIRE. G. | |
EMPLOYMENT. | |
EMULATION. GALLANTRY. | |
ENCOURAGEMENT. GAMBLING. | |
ENDURANCE. GAYETY. | |
ENEMIES. GENEROSITY. | |
ENERGY. GENIUS. | |
ENJOYMENT. GENTILITY. | |
ENNUI. GENTLEMAN. | |
ENTERPRISE.- GENTLENESS. | |
ENTIFUSIASM. GIBBET. * | |
ENVY. GIFTS. | |
EQUALITY. QLADNESS. | |
EQUANIMITY. GLOOM. | |
EQUITY. GLORY. | |
EQUIVOCATION. GLUTTONY. | |
ERROR. GOD. | |
ESTEEM, GOD-LIKE. | |
ESTIMATION. GOLD. - | |
ETERNITY. GOOD-BREEDING. | |
ETHICS. GOOD-NATORE. | |
EVASION. GOODNESS. | |
EVENING. GOOD-TASTE. | |
EVIL. GOSPEL. | |
EVIL-SPEARING. GOSSIP. | |
EXAGGERATION. GOVERNMENT. | |
EXAMPLE, GRACE. | |
EXCELLENCE. GRAMMAR. | |
‘EXCELSIOR. GRANDEUR. | |
EXCEPTIONS. GRATITUDE, | |
EXCESS. GRAVE. | |
EXCUSE. GRAVITY. | |
EXERCISE. GREATNESS. | |
EXPECTATION. GREETING. | |
EXPEDIENCY. ) GRIEF. | |
EXPERIENCE, GRUDIBLING. | |
EXTENUATION. GUILE. | |
EXTRAVAGANCE. GUILT. | |
EXTREMES. GUNPOWDER. | |
EYES. ° | |
Hi. | |
F. HABIT. | |
FACE, HAIR, | |
FACT, ILAND. | |
FAILURE. HANDSOME. | |
FAItIT IWAPPINESS. | |
FALSEHOOD. HARMONY. | |
FAME ITARVEST. | |
FAMILIARITY, HASTE. | |
FANATICISM IATRED. | |
FANCY. HEAD. | |
FAREWELL. HEALTH, | |
FASHION. HEART. | |
FATE. II[EARTLESSNESS. | |
FAULTS. HEAVEN. | |
FEAR. TIEIRS. | |
FEELINGS. HERALDRY. | |
FICKLENESS. TIEREAFTER. | |
FICTION. IERO. | |
FIDELITY. HEROISM. | |
FIRMNESS, IISTORY. | |
FLATTERY. | HOBBY. | |
FLOWERS. IIOLIDAY. | |
FOE. TIOLINESS. | |
FOOLISHNESS. TIOME. | |
FOOLS. JIOMELINESS. | |
FOOTSTEPS. ILONESTY. | |
FOPPERY. HONOR. | |
FORBEARANCE. ILQPE. | |
FORCE. TIORSEMANSHIP. | |
FORETIHOUGHT, HOSPITALITY. | |
FORGETEOLNESS. HUMANITY. | |
FORGIVENESS. HOMAN NATURE, | |
FORTITUDE. HUMILITY. | |
FORTUNE. HUMOR. | |
FRAIUTY. HYPOCRISY. | |
FRANCE. | |
FRANKNESS. L | |
FRAUD. . | |
FREEDOM. IDEAL. | |
FREE-SPEECH. IDEAS. | |
OF | |
SUBJECTS. | |
IDLENESS. | |
IGNORANCE. | |
ILL-NATURE, | |
ILLS. | |
ILLUSION, | |
ILL-WILL. | |
IMAGINATION. | |
IMITATION. | |
IMMODESTY. | |
IMMORTALITY. | |
IMPATIENCE. | |
IMPERFECTION. | |
IMPOSITION. | |
DMPOSSIBILITY. | |
IMPRISONMENT, | |
IMPROVEMENT. | |
IMPROVIDENCE. | |
ISIPUDENCE. | |
IMPULSE, | |
INCONSISTENCY. | |
INCONSTANCY. | |
INCREDULITY. | |
INDECISION, | |
INDEPENDENCE, | |
INDIFFERENCE. | |
INDISCRETION. | |
INDIVIDUALITY. | |
INDOLENCE. | |
INDUSTRY. | |
INFAMY. | |
INFIDELITY. | |
INFINITE. | |
INFLUENCE, | |
INGRATITUDE. | |
INHERITANCE, | |
INJURY. | |
INJUSTICE, | |
INNOCENCE | |
INNOV ATION. ~ | |
INQUISITIVENESS. | |
INSENSIBILITY. | |
INSPIRATION, | |
INSTINCT, | |
INSTRUCTION. | |
INSULT. | |
INTELLECT. | |
INTELLIGENCE. | |
INTEMPERANCE. | |
INTENTIONS, | |
INTEREST, | |
INTERFERENCE, | |
INTOLERANCE. | |
INTRIGUE. | |
INTUITION? | |
INVENTION, | |
TRONY. | |
ISOLATION. | |
J. | |
JEALOUSY, | |
JEERING. | |
JESTING. | |
JEWELS. | |
JOY. | |
JUDGMENT. | |
JUSTICE. | |
K. | |
KINDNESS. | |
KINGS. | |
KISSES. | |
KNAVERY. | |
‘ KNOWLEDGE. | |
L. | |
LABOR. | |
LANDSCAPE. | |
‘LANGUAGE. | |
LAUGHTER. | |
LAW. | |
LEARNING. | |
LEISURE. | |
LENDING. | |
LENITY. | |
LETTERS. | |
LEVITY. | |
LIBERALITY. | |
LIBERTY. | |
LIBRARY. | |
LICENSE. | |
LICENTIOUSNESS. | |
LIFE. | |
LIGHT. | |
LITERATURE. | |
LOGIC. | |
LOQUACTTIY. | |
LOSSES. | |
MACHINERY. | |
MAIDENHOOD. | |
MADNESS. | |
MAGNANIBIITY. | |
MAJORITY. | |
MALICE. | |
BIAMMION, | |
MAN. | |
MANAGEMENT, | |
MANNERS. | |
MARTYRS. | |
MASTER. | |
MATRIMONY. | |
MEANNESS. | |
MEDICINE. | |
MEDIOCRITY. | |
MEDITATION. | |
MEETING. | |
MELANCILOLY, | |
MEMORY. | |
MENDICANTS. | |
MERCY. | |
MERIT. | |
METAPHOR. | |
METAPHYSICS. | |
METHOD. | |
MIDNIGHT. | |
MIND. | |
MINORITY. | |
MIRACLE. | |
MIRTH. | |
MISANTHROPY, | |
MISCHIEF. | |
MISER. | |
MISERY. | |
MISFORTUNE, | |
MISTAKE. | |
BIISTRUST. | |
MOB. | |
MODERATION. | |
MODESTY. | |
MONEY, | |
MONOMANIA. | |
MONUMENTS, | |
MOON. | |
MOONLIGHT. | |
DIORALITY. | |
MORNING. | |
MOROSENESS. | |
MORTALITY. | |
DIOSSES. | |
MOTHER. | |
MOTIVE. | |
MUNIFICENCE. | |
MURDER, | |
MUSIC. | |
MUTABILITY. | |
MYSTERY. | |
MYTHOLOGY. | |
N. | |
NAME. | |
NATIONALITY. | |
NATIVE LAND. | |
--- Chunk 1, Page 17 --- | |
INDEX OF SUBJECTS. | |
NATURE | |
NEATNESS, | |
NECESSITY. | |
NEGLECT. | |
NEGRO. | |
NEUTRALITY. | |
NEWS, | |
NICKNAME, | |
NIGHT. | |
NOBILITY, | |
NOISE, | |
NONSENSE, | |
NOTILING | |
NOTORIETY. | |
NOVELS. | |
“NOVELTY. | |
0. | |
OATHS | |
OBEDIENCE. | |
OBESITY. | |
OBLIGATION. | |
OBLIVION | |
OBSCURITY. | |
OBSERVATION. | |
ORSTINACY. | |
ORTUSEN ESS | |
OCCTIIPATION. | |
OFFENCE. | |
OFFICE. | |
OMNIPOTENCE. | |
OPINION. | |
OPPORTUNITY. | |
OPPOSITION. | |
OPPRESSION. | |
ORATORY. | |
ORDER. | |
ORIGINALITY. | |
ORNAMENT. | |
OSTENTATION. | |
P. | |
PAIN. | |
PAINTING. | |
PANIC. | |
PARADISE, | |
PARD! | |
PARENT. | |
PARTING. | |
PARTY. | |
PASSION. | |
PAST. | |
PATIENCE. | |
TRIOTISM. | |
PATRONAGE. | |
PAYMENT. | |
PEACE. | |
PENETRATION. | |
PERCEPTION. | |
PERFECTION. | |
PERSECUTION. | |
PERSEVERANCE. | |
PERSUASION. | |
PERVERSENESS, | |
PHILANTHROPY. | |
PHILOSOPILY. | |
PILYSIC—PHYSICIAN, | |
PITYSIOGNOMY. | |
PIETY, | |
PITY. | |
PLAGIARISM. | |
PLEASURE, | |
POETRY. | |
POLICY. | |
POLITENESS, | |
POLITICS. | |
POPULACE. | |
POPULARITY. | |
POSITION. | |
POSITIV ENESS. | |
POSTERITY. | |
POVERTY. | |
POWER. | |
PRAISE. | |
PRAYER, | |
PREACHING, | |
PRECEDENT, | |
PRECEPT. | |
PREFERMENT. | |
PREJUDICE, | |
PRESENT. | |
PRESS, | |
PRETENSION. | |
PREVENTION. | |
PRIDE, | |
PRINCIPLES. | |
PROCRASTINATION. | |
PROFANITY. | |
PROFLIGATE. | |
PROGRESS, | |
PROMISE. | |
PROSPERITY. | |
PROVERBS. | |
PROVIDENCE. | |
PRUDENCE, | |
PUBLIC. | |
PUFFING. | |
PUNCTUALITY. | |
PUNISIIMENT. | |
PUNS. | |
PURITY, | |
Q. | |
QUACKS. | |
QUARRELS. | |
QUIET. | |
QUOTATION, | |
R. | |
RAGE. | |
RAIN. | |
RAINBOW, | |
RANK, | |
RAPTURE. | |
RARITY. | |
RASIENESS. | |
READING. | |
REALITY. | |
REASON. | |
REBELLION. | |
RECIPROCITY. | |
RECONCILIATION. | |
RECREATION. | |
REDEMPTI | |
REFINEMENT, | |
REFLECTION. | |
REFORM. | |
RELIGION | |
REMEMBRANCE. | |
REMORSE. | |
RENEGADE | |
RENOWN. | |
REPARTER. | |
REPENTANCE. | |
REPOSE. | |
RERROACH. | |
REPROOE. | |
REPUBLIC, | |
REPUBLICANISM. | |
REPUTATION. - | |
RESENTMENT. | |
RESERVE. | |
RESIGNATION. | |
RESOLUTION. | |
RESPON IBILITY , | |
RESURRECTION, | |
RETIREMENT, | |
RETRIBUTION. | |
REVENGE. | |
REVERENCE, | |
REVERY | |
REVOLUTION, | |
REWARD. | |
RITETORIC. | |
RICHES. | |
RIDICULE. | |
RIGOR, | |
TUVALRY, | |
LOBBERY, | |
ROGUE. | |
ROMANCE. | |
RUDENESS. | |
RUINS. | |
RONOR. | |
8. | |
SABBATH, | |
SACRIFICE. | |
SADNESS. | |
SARCASM. | |
SATIETY. | |
SATIRE, | |
SCANDAL. | |
SCARS. | |
SCENERY. | |
SCEPTICISM. | |
SCIENCE, | |
SCOLDING. | |
SCRIPTURES. | |
SEA, | |
SEASONS. | |
SECRECY. | |
SELF-CONCEIT. | |
SELF-CONTROL. | |
SELF-DECFIT. | |
SELF-DENIAL. | |
SELF-EX AMINATION. | |
SELFISIINESS. | |
SELF-LOVE | |
SELF-PRAISE. | |
SELF-RELIANCE. | |
SELF-RESPECT. | |
SELF-SAGRIFICK. | |
SELF-SUFFICIENCY | |
SELF-WILL. | |
SENSIBILITY. | |
SENSITIVENESS. | |
SENSUALITY. | |
SENTIMENT. | |
SENTIMENTALISM. | |
SEPARATION, | |
SERVANTS. | |
SERVITUDE. | |
SILAKESPEARE. | |
STIAME. | |
SICKNESS. | |
SIGIIT. | |
SILENCE. | |
SIMILE. | |
SIMPLICITY. | |
SIN. | |
SINCERITY. | |
SINGULARITY. | |
SLANDER, | |
SLEEP. | |
SLOTII. | |
SMILE. | |
SOCIABILITY. | |
SOCIETY. | |
SOLITUDE. | |
SONG, : | |
SOPILISTRY. | |
SORROW. | |
SOUL. | |
SOUND. | |
SPECIALTY. | |
SPECULATION. | |
SPEECI. | |
SPIRE. | |
SPITE. | |
SPORT. | |
SPRING. | |
STARS. | |
STATESMAN. | |
STATION. | |
STRANGER. | |
STRENGTH. | |
STUBRORNESS. | |
STUDY. | |
STUPIDITY. | |
STYLB. | |
SUBLIMITY. | |
SUBORDINATION. | |
SUBTLETY. | |
SUCCKSS. | |
SUICIDE, | |
SUN. | |
SUNSET. | |
SUPERFLUITIES. | |
SUPERSTITION. | |
SUSPICION. | |
SURETY. | |
SWORD. | |
SYMPATITY, | |
SYSTEM. | |
T. | |
TABLE-TALK. | |
TACT. | |
TALENT. | |
TALKING. | |
TASTE. | |
TATTLING, | |
TAVERN. | |
TAXES | |
TEACHING. | |
TEARS. | |
TEMPER | |
TEMPERANCE. | |
TEMPTATION. | |
TENDERNESS, | |
TERROR. | |
TESTIMONY. | |
TIIANKS. | |
TILEFT, | |
TILEOLOGY. | |
THEORIES. | |
TIOQUGIET, | |
THOUGHTLESSNESS. | |
TIIREATS. | |
THUNDER. | |
TIME. | |
TIMIDITY. | |
TITLE. | |
TOIL. | |
TOLERATION. | |
TOMB. | |
TO-MORROW, | |
TONGUE. | |
TRADE. | |
TRADITION. | |
TRAGEDY. | |
TRAVEL. | |
TREACIIERY. | |
TREASON. | |
TREES. | |
TRIALS, | |
TRIFLES. | |
TRIUMPIT. | |
TROUBLES, | |
TRUST, | |
TRUTH. | |
TWILIGHT. | |
TYPE, | |
TYRANNY, | |
Uz | |
UGLINESS | |
UNBELIEF. | |
UNCERTAINTY. | |
UNCOUTIINESS., | |
UNDERSTANDING. | |
UNDERTAKING. | |
UNEASINESS. | |
UNFAITHFULNESS. | |
UNFORTUNATE. | |
UNGRATEPULNESS, | |
UNHAPPINESS. | |
UNION. | |
UNKINDNESS. | |
UNSRASONABLENESS | |
USE. | |
USEFULNESS, | |
USURER. | |
UTILITY. | |
--- Chunk 1, Page 18 --- | |
xii | |
Vv. | |
VAGRANT. | |
VAINGLORY. | |
VALOR. | |
VANITY. | |
VARIETY. | |
VEGETATION. | |
VENGEANCE. | |
VICE. | |
VICISSITUDES. | |
VICTORY. | |
VIGILANCE. | |
VILLANY | |
VINDICTIVENESS. | |
VIOLENCE. | |
VIRTUE. | |
VISITS, | |
INDEX OF SUBJECTS. | |
VITUPERATION. | |
VIVACITY. | |
VOCATION. | |
VOICE. | |
VOLITION. | |
VOLUPTUOUSNESS. | |
VOWS. | |
VULGARITY. | |
Ww. | |
WALKING. | |
WANTS. | |
WAR. | |
WASTE. | |
WEAKNESS, | |
WEALTH. | |
WEARINESS. | |
WELCOME. | |
WELL- DOING. | |
WICKEDNESS. | |
WIFE. | |
WILFULNESS. | |
WILL. | |
WILLING. | |
WILLs. | |
WIND. | |
WINE. | |
WINTER. | |
WISDOM: | |
WISHES. | |
WIT. | |
WOE. | |
‘WOMAN. | |
WONDER. | |
Woops. | |
WORDS. | |
WORK. | |
WORLD. | |
WORLDLINESS. | |
WORSHIP. | |
WORTH. | |
WRITING. | |
WRONG. | |
YEARNINGS. | |
YOUTH. | |
N | |
ZEAL. | |
--- Chunk 1, Page 19 --- | |
ENCYCLOPAIDIA | |
OF QUOTATIONS. | |
A. | |
ABILITY. | |
The art of being able to make a good use | |
of moderate abilitics wins estcem, and often | |
confers more reputation than real merit.— | |
Rochefoucauld. | |
Men are often capable of greater things than | |
they perform. They are sent into the world | |
with bills of credit, and seldom draw to their | |
full extent.— Walpole. | |
The force of his own merit makes his way, a | |
gift that Heaven gives for him.—Shakespeare. | |
The abilities of a man must fall short on | |
one side or other, like too scanty a blanket | |
when you are abed: if you pull it upon your | |
shoulders, you leave your feet bare; if you | |
thrust it down upon your feet, your shoulders | |
are uncovered.—Sir 1. Temple. | |
The height of ability consists in a thorough | |
knowledge of the real value of things, and of | |
the genius of the age we live in.—Rockefoucauld. | |
An able man shows his spirit by gentle | |
words and resolute actions; he is neither hot | |
nor timid.— Chesterfield. | |
No man’s abilities are so remarkably shin- | |
ing, as not to stand in need of a proper oppor- | |
tunity, a patron, and even the praises of a | |
friend, to recommend them to the notice of the | |
world.—Pliny. | |
Some persons of weak understanding are so | |
sensible of that weakness, as to be able to make | |
a good use of it.—Rochefoucauld. | |
ABSENCE. | |
*T is ever common, that men are merriest | |
when they are from home.—Shakespeare. | |
Distance of time and place do generally cure | |
what they seem to aggravate; and taking leave | |
of our friends resembles taking leave of the | |
world, concerning which it hath been often said | |
that it is not death, but dying, which is terrible. | |
Fidding. | |
The joy of mecting pays the pangs of ab- | |
sence; else who could Bear it Rowe, | |
1 | |
« | |
All flowers will droop in absence of the sun | |
that waked their sweets.— Dryden. | |
What vigor absence adds to love !—Flatman. | |
I am not sure if the ladies understand the | |
full value of the influence of absence, nor do I | |
think it wise to teach it them, lest, like the Cle- | |
lias and Mandanes of yorc, they should resume | |
the humor of sending their lovers into banish- | |
ment. Distance, in truth, produces in idea the | |
same effect asin real perspective. Objects are | |
softened, and rounded, and rendered doubly | |
graceful ; the harsher and more ordinary points | |
of character are mellowed down, and those by | |
which it is remembered are the more striking | |
outlines that mark sublimity, grace, or beauty. | |
Walter Scott. | |
Absent in body, but present in spirit —Bible. | |
_ Absence diminishes moderate passions and | |
augments great ones, as the wind extinguishes | |
candles and kindles the fire—Rochefoucauld. | |
The absent are never without fault, nor the | |
present without excuse.—Frenklin. | |
Absence, like death, sets a sea] on the image | |
of those we have loved; we cannot realize the | |
intervening changes which time may have ef- | |
fected.— Goldsmith. | |
Our souls much farther than onr eyes can | |
see.—Jfichael Drayton. | |
I find the attraction of love‘is in an inverse | |
proportion to the attraction of the Newtonian | |
philosophy. Every mile-stone that marked my | |
progress from Clarinda awakened a keener pang | |
of attachment.—Burns. | |
Love reckons hours for months, and days for | |
years; and every little absence is an age.— | |
Dryden. | |
Distance sometimes cndears friendship, and | |
absence swecteneth it.—LHowell. | |
Give me to drink mandragora, that I might | |
sleep ont this great gap of time my Antony is | |
away.— Shakespeare. | |
--- Chunk 1, Page 20 --- | |
ABSTINENCE. | |
ABUSE. | |
What! keep a week away? Seven days and | |
nights? eightseore cight hours? and lovers’ | |
absent hours, more tedious than the dial cight- | |
score timés? O weary reckoning !—Shakespeare. | |
The presence of those whom we love is as a | |
double life; absence, in its anxious longing and | |
sense of vacancy, is as a'foretaste of death.— | |
Airs. Jameson. | |
ABSTINENCE. | |
Ah, how much suffering might be spared | |
sometimes by a single abstinence, by a single | |
no answered in a firm tone to the voice of | |
seduction !—Lavater. | |
To set the mind above the appetites is the | |
end of abstinence, which one of the fathers | |
observes to be, not'a virtue, but the .ground- | |
work of «a virtue. By forbearing to do what | |
may innocently be done, we may add hourly | |
new vigor to resolution,.and secure the power | |
of resistance when pleasure or interest shall | |
lend their charms to guilt —Johnson. | |
He who wishes to travel far is careful of his | |
steed; drink, eat, sleep, and let_us light a fire | |
which shall continue to burn.—-Racine. | |
The more a man denies himself, the more he | |
shall obtain from God.—Zorace. | |
The whole duty of man is-embraced in the | |
two principles of abstinence and patience : tem- | |
perance in prosperity, and courage in adversity. | |
Seneca. | |
Always rise from table with an appetite, | |
and you will never sit down without one.— | |
William Penn. | |
Endeavor to have as little to do with thy | |
affections and passions as thou canst: and | |
labor to thy power to make thy body content | |
to go of thy soul’s errands.—Jeremy Taylor. | |
His life is paralleled even with the stroke | |
and line of his great justice; he doth with holy | |
abstinence subdue that in himself which he | |
spurs on his power to qualify in others.— | |
Shakespeare. | |
The stomach listens to no precepts. It | |
begs and clamors. And yet it is not an obdu- | |
rate creditor. It is dismissed with a small pay- | |
ment, if only you give it what you owe, and not | |
as much as you can.—Seneca. | |
The temperate are the most éruly luxurious. | |
By abstaining from most things, it is surprising | |
how mauy things we enjoy.— Simms. | |
Let not thy table exeeed the fourth part of | |
thy revenue: let thy provision be solid, and not | |
far fetched, fuller of substance than art: be wisely | |
frugal in thy preparation, and freely cheerful | |
in thy entertainment: if thy gnests be right, it | |
is enough; if not, it is too much: too much is | |
a vanity; enough is a feast.— Quarles. | |
Ayich man cannot enjoy a sound mind nor | |
a sound body, without exercise and abstinence ; | |
and yet these are truly the worst ingredients of | |
poverty —Lenry Home. | |
Moderation is the silken string running | |
through the pearl-chain of all virtues.—J’°uller. | |
Temperance and labor are the two best | |
physicians of man ; labor sharpens the appetite, | |
and temperance prevents him from indulging to | |
excess.— Housseau. | |
After all, it is continued temperance which | |
sustains the body for the longest period of time, | |
and which most surely preserves it free from | |
sickness.— Wilhelm von Humboldt. | |
The miser’s cheese is wholesomest.— | |
Franklin. | |
When you have learned to nonrish your | |
body frugally, do not pique yourself upon it, | |
nor, if you drink water, be suying*upon every | |
oceasion, “I drink water.” But first consider | |
how much more frugal are the poor than we, | |
and how much more patient of hardship.— | |
Ppictetus, | |
The defensive virtue abstinence. —errick. | |
If thou desire to make the best advantage | |
of the muses, either by reading, to benefit thy- | |
self, or by writing, others, keep a peaccful soul | |
in a temperate body: a full belly makes a dull | |
brain; and a turbulent spirit, a distracted | |
judgment: the muses starve in a cook’s shop | |
and a lawyer’s study.— Quarles. | |
ABUSE. | |
Abuse is often of service. There is noth- | |
ing so dangerous to an author as silenee. His | |
name, like a shattlecock, must be beat back- | |
ward and forward, or it falls to the ground.— | |
Johnson. | |
It is the wit, the policy of sin, to hate those | |
men we have abused.—Sur WW. Davenant. | |
There are more people abusive to others | |
than lie open to abuse themselves; but the hu- | |
mor goes round, and he that laughs at me | |
to-day will have somebody to Jaugh at him to- | |
morrow.—Seneca. | |
I never yet heard man or woman much | |
abnsed, that I was not inclined to think the | |
better of them; and to transfer any suspicion | |
or dislike to the person who appeared to take | |
delight in pointing out the defects of ‘a fellow- | |
creature.—Jane Porter. | |
Remember that it is not he who gives abuse | |
or blows who affronts, but the view we take | |
of these things as insulting. When, therefore, | |
any one provokes you, be assured that it is | |
your own opinion which provokes you.— | |
Epictetus | |
--- Chunk 1, Page 21 --- | |
ACCIDENT. | |
ACTION. | |
There is a time when men will not suffer | |
bad things because their ancestors have-suflered | |
worse. ‘There is«a -time when the hoary head | |
of inveterate abuse will neither draw reverence | |
nor obtain protection.— Burke. | |
When certain persons abuse us, let ns ask | |
ourselves. what description of characters it is | |
that they admire ; we shall often find this a very | |
consolatory question.— Colton. | |
ACCIDENT. | |
No accidents are so unlucky but that the | |
prudent may draw some advantage from them ; | |
nor are there any so lucky but that the im- | |
prudent may turn to their prejudice— — ~ | |
Rockefoucauld. | |
As the unthought-on accident is guilty of | |
what we wildly do, so we profess ourselves to | |
be:the slaves of chance, iand flies of every wind | |
that blows.—Shakespeare. | |
ACQUIREMENTS. | |
That good sense which nature affords us is | |
preferable to most of the knowledge that we | |
cant. acquire.— Comines. | |
That which we acquire with the most diffi- | |
culty we retain the longest; as those who have | |
earned,a fortune‘are usually more careful of it | |
than those who have inherited one.—Colton. | |
ACTION, | |
There is.no action of man in this life which | |
is not the beginning of so long a chain of con- | |
sequences, as that no human providence is high | |
enough to give’us a prospect to the end.— | |
Thomas of Malmesbury. | |
Man is an animal that cannot long be left in | |
safety without occupation; the growth of his | |
fallow nature is apt to run into weeds.— Hillard. | |
Wouldst thou know the lawfulness of the | |
action which thou desirest to undertake, let | |
thy devotion recommend it to Divine blessing: | |
if it be lawful, thou shalt perceive thy heart | |
encouraged by thy prayer; if unlawful, thou | |
slialt find thy prayer discouraged by thy heart. | |
That action is not warrantable which either | |
blushes to beg a blessing, or, having succeeded, | |
dares not present a-thanksziving.— Quarles. | |
Action hangs, as it were, “dissolved” in | |
speech, in thoughts whereof speech is the shad- | |
ow; and precipitates itself therefrom. The | |
kind of speech in a man betokens the kind of | |
action you will get from him.— Carlyle. | |
Speak out in acts; the time for words has | |
passed, and deeds alone suffice. — IVhittier. | |
To do an evil action is hase; to do a good | |
action, without incurring danger, is common | |
enough; but it is the part of+a good man to do | |
great and noble deeds, though he risks every- | |
thing.—L’lutarch, | |
the voice of iny inmost soul. | |
‘they may. be good, yet produce no fruit. | |
A contemplative life has more the appear- | |
ance of a life of piety than any other; but it is | |
the Divine plan to bring fuith into activity and | |
exercise.— Cecil. | |
All our actions take their lines from the | |
complexion of the heart;:as landscapes their | |
yariety from light.— IV. 7. Bacon. | |
Not alone to know, but to act according to | |
thy knowledge, is thy. destination, — proclaims | |
Not. for indolent | |
contemplation and study of thyself, nor for | |
brooding over emotions of piety,—uo, for | |
action was existence given thee; thy actions, | |
and thy actions alone, determine thy worth.— | |
Lichte. | |
The only true method of action iu this world | |
is to be in it, but not of it— Madame Swetchine. | |
Man, being essentially active, must find in | |
activity his joy, as well as his beauty and | |
glory; and labor, like everything clse that is | |
good, is its own reward.— IW Aipple. | |
The only things in which we ean be said | |
to have any property are our ,actions. Our | |
thoughts may be bad, yet produce no poison j | |
ur | |
riches may be taken away by misfortune, our | |
reputation by malice, our spirits by calamity, our | |
health by disease, our fricuds by death. But | |
our actions must follow us beyond the grave; | |
with respect to them alone, we cannot say that | |
we shall carry nothing with us when we dic, | |
neither that we shall go naked out of the world.— | |
Colton. | |
Idlers cannot even find time to be idle, or | |
the industrious to be at leisure. We must be | |
always doing or suffering. —Zimmermann. | |
Unselfish and noble acts ‘are the most radi- | |
ant epochs in the biography of souls. When | |
wrought in carliest youth, they lie in the mem- | |
ory of age like the coral islands, green and | |
sunny, amidst the melancholy waste of ocean.— | |
Rev. Dr. Thomas. | |
Life is a short day; but it isa working-day. | |
Activity may lead to evil; but inactivity cannot | |
be led to good.—_Zannah More. | |
Allowing the performance of an honorable | |
action to be attended with labor, the labor is | |
soon over, bnt the honor.is immortal; whereas, | |
should even pleasure wait on the commission | |
of what is dishonorable, the pleasure is soon | |
gone, but the dishonor is eternal.—John Stewart. | |
Our «actions are like the terminations of | |
verses, which we rhyme as we please.— | |
Rochefoucauld. | |
T have lived to know that the secret of hap- | |
piness is never to allow your‘energies to stag- | |
nate.—Adam Clarke. | |
--- Chunk 1, Page 22 --- | |
ACTION. | |
ACTION. | |
Be not too tame neither, but let your own | |
discrction be your tutor; suit the action to the | |
word, the word to the action; with this special | |
observance, that you o’erstep not the modesty | |
of nature.—Shakespeare. | |
All power appears only in transition. Per- | |
manent power is stuff.—Vovalis. | |
Act! the wise ‘are known by their actions; | |
fume and immortality are ever their attendants. | |
Mark with deeds the vanishing traces of swift- | |
rolling time. Let us make happy the circle | |
around us,—be useful as much as we may. | |
For that fills up with soft rapture, that dissolves | |
the dark clouds of the day !—Salis. | |
Be great in act, as you have been in thought. | |
Shakespeare. | |
Indolenee is a delightful but distressing | |
state; we must be doing something to be | |
happy. Action is no less necessary than | |
thought to the instinctive tendencies of the | |
human frame.—Haztitt. | |
It behooves the high for their own sake to do | |
things worthily.— Ben Jonson. | |
It is hard to personate and.act a part long; | |
for where Truth is not at the bottom, Nature | |
will always be endeavoring to return, and will | |
peep out and betray herself onc time or other.— | |
Tillotson. | |
Strong reasons make strong actions.— | |
Shakespeare. | |
The Lord is a God of knowledge, and by | |
hin actions are weighed.—Bidle. | |
Man is born for action; he onght to do | |
something. Work, at cach step, awakens a | |
sleeping force and roots out error. Who docs | |
nothing, knows nothing. Rise! to work! Ifj | |
thy knowledge is real, employ it; wrestle with, | |
nature ; test the strength of thy theories; see if | |
they will support the trial ; act !—A/oysius. | |
Our actions are our own ; their consequences | |
belong to Heaven.—P. Francis. | |
“There is nothing so terrible as activity | |
without insight,” says Goethe. “ I would open | |
every one of Argus’s hundred cyes before I used | |
Action is the highest perfection and draw- | |
ing forth of the utmost power, vigor, and | |
activity of man’s nature.—South. | |
Better that we should err in action than | |
wholly refuse to perform. The stomm is so | |
much better than the calm, as it deelares the | |
presence of a living principle. Stagnation is | |
something worse than death. It is corruption | |
-also.—Simms. | |
The flighty purpose never is o’ertook un- | |
less the deed go with it—Shakespeare. | |
Let us, if we nuust have great actions, make | |
our own so. All action is of infinite elasticity, | |
and the least admits of being inflated with celes- | |
tial air, until it eclipses the sun and moon.— | |
Emerson, | |
Activity is the presence of funetion, —~ char- | |
acter is the record of function. — Greenough. | |
No man should be so much taken up in the | |
search of truth, as thereby to neglect the more | |
necessary duties of active life; for after all is | |
done, it is action only that gives a truc value | |
and commendation to virtue.— Cicero. | |
Active natures are rarely melancholy. Ac- | |
tivity and melancholy are incompatible.—Bovee. | |
Do not be afraid becanse the community | |
teems with excitement. Silence and death are | |
dreadful. The rush of life, the vigor of earnest | |
men, the conflict of realities, invigorate, cleanse, | |
and establish the truth.— Beecher. | |
Action is cloqnence, and the eyes of the | |
ignorant more learned than their cars.— | |
Shakespeare. | |
The activity of the yonng is like that of rail | |
cars in motion, — they tear along with noise and | |
turmoil,'‘and leave peace behind them. The | |
/quictest nooks, invaded by them, lose their qui- | |
etude as they pass, and recover it only on their | |
departure. Time’s best gift to us is serenity.— | |
Bovee. | |
Celerity is never more admired than by the | |
negligent.— Shakespeare. | |
It is good policy to strike while the iron is | |
hot ; it is still better to adopt Cromwell’s pro- | |
one of Briaveus’s hundred hands,” says Lord, cedure, and make the iron hot hy striking. | |
Bacon. “Look before you leap,” says John | |
Smith, all over the world.— Whipple. | |
Our acts make or mar us,—we are the | |
children of our own deeds.— Victor Hugo. | |
Remember that in all miseries lamenting | |
becomes fools, and action, wise folk.— | |
Sir P. Sidney. | |
A stirring dwarf we do allowance give before | |
a sleeping giant.—Shakespeare. | |
The master-spirit who can rule the storm is | |
great, but he is much greater who can both | |
raise and rule it.—. £. Magoon. | |
How slow the time to the warm sonl, that, | |
in the very instant it forms, would execute a | |
great design !—Thomson. | |
Let ’s take the instant by the forward top; | |
for we are old, and on our quickest decrees, the | |
inaudible and noiseless foot of time steals, ere | |
we can effect them.— Shakespeare. - | |
--- Chunk 1, Page 23 --- | |
ACTION. 5 | |
ACTORS. | |
i | |
Hast thou not Greek cnough to understand | |
thus inuch: the end of. man is an action and | |
not a thought, though it were of the noblest.— | |
Carlyle. | |
Deliberate with caution, but act with decis- | |
fon; and yield with graciousness, or oppose | |
with firmness.—Colton. | |
_ The keen spirit scizes.the prompt occasion ; | |
makes the thought start into instant action, | |
and at once: plans and performs, resolves and | |
executes !—Z/annah Afore. | |
The firefly only shines when on the wing; | |
so is it with the mind; when ouce-we rest, we | |
darken.—Bailey. | |
Words are good, but there is something | |
better. The best is not to be explained by | |
words. The spirit in which we act is the chief | |
matter. Action can only be understood and | |
represented by the spirit. No one knows what | |
he is doing while he is acting rightly, but of | |
what is wroug we are always conscions.— Goethe. | |
It is vain to expect any advantage from our | |
profession of the truth, if we be not sincerely | |
just and honest in onr actions.— | |
Archbishop Sharpe. | |
Men’s actions to futurity appear but as the | |
events to which they'are conjoined do give them | |
consequence.—Joanna Baillie. | |
Thonght and theory must precede all action | |
that moves to salutary purposes. Yet action is | |
nobler in itself than either thought or theory.— | |
Wordsworth. | |
Every event that a‘man would master must | |
be monnted on the run, and no man ever caught | |
the reins of a thought except as it galloped by | |
him.—Zolines. | |
Toil, feel, think, hope. A man is snre to | |
dream cnough before he dies withont making | |
arrangements for the purpose.—sSterling. | |
There is no word or action but may be | |
taken with two hands,—cither with the right | |
hand of charitable construction, or the sinister | |
interpretation of malice and suspicion; and | |
all things do sneceed as they are taken. To | |
constrne-an evil action well is but a pleasing | |
and profitable deceit to myself; but to iis- | |
construe a good thing is -a- treble-wrong, — to | |
myself, the action, and the author.— Bishop Hall. | |
What a man knows shonld .find its expres- | |
sion in what he does. The value of superior | |
knowledge is chiefly in that it leads to a per- | |
forming manhood.—Bovee. | |
Actions rire and sndden do commonly pro- | |
eeed from fierce necessity, or else from some | |
oblique desien, which is ‘ashamed to show itself | |
in the public-road:—Sir WW. Davenant. | |
. The least movement is of importance to all | |
nature. ‘The entire ocean is.atteeted by a peb- | |
ble.—Pascal. | |
Act well at the moment,-and you have per- | |
formed a good action to. all eternity.—Lavater. | |
Just in proportion:as a man becomes good, | |
divine, Christlike, he passes out of the region | |
of theorizing, of system-building, and hireling | |
service, into the region of benceticent activities. | |
It ts well to think well. It is divine to. act | |
well.— Horace Mann. | |
Life is an outward occupation, an actnal | |
work, in all ranks, and all sitnations.— | |
Wilhel von IZumboldt. | |
ACTORS. _ ; | |
Notwithstanding all that Rousseau has ad- | |
vanced so very ingeniously upon plays ‘and | |
players, their profession is, like that of a paint- | |
er, one of the imitative arts, whose means are | |
pleasure, and whose end is virtue.— Shenstone. | |
Comedians are not actors; they are only | |
imitators of actors. —Zimmermann. | |
They are the only honest hypocrites. Their | |
life ‘is a voluntary dream, a studied madness. | |
The height of their ambition is to be beside them- | |
selves. To-day kings, to-morrow beggars, it is | |
only when they -are themselves that they:.are | |
nothing. Mae up of mimic laughter and tears, | |
passing from the extreines of joy or woe at the | |
prompter’s call, they wear the livery of other | |
men’s fortunes; their very ‘thoughts are “not | |
their own.— Hazlitt. | |
There is one way by which a strolling player | |
may be ever secure of success; that is, in onr | |
theatrical way of expressing it, to make a great | |
deal of the character. To speak and act as in | |
common life is not playing, nor is it what peo- | |
ple come to see; natural speaking, like sweet | |
wine, runs glibly over the palate, and scarcely | |
leaves any taste behind it; but being high in'a | |
part resembles vinegar, which grates upon the | |
taste, and one fecls it while he is drinking.— | |
Goldsmith. | |
Tt is with some violence to the imagination | |
that we conceive of an actor belonging to the | |
relations of private life, so closely do we identify | |
these persons in our mind with the characters | |
which they assume npon the stage.—Lamb. | |
Where they do agree on the stage, their | |
unanimity is wonderful.— Sheridan. | |
The actor is in the capacity of a steward to | |
every living muse, and of an executor to every | |
departed one: the poct digs up the ore; he sifts | |
it from the dross, refines‘and purifies it for the | |
mint; thé actor sets the stamp upon it, and | |
makes it eurrent in the world.— Cumberland. | |
They are the abstract, and brief chronicles | |
of the tine. Shakespeare. | |
--- Chunk 1, Page 24 --- | |
ADAPTATION. 6 | |
All the world’s a stage, and:all the men and | |
women merely players; they have their exits | |
and their entrances, -and one man in his time | |
plays many parts.— Shakespeare. | |
The stage is a supplement to the pulpit, | |
where virtue, according tu Plato’s sublime idea, | |
moves our love and aftection when made visible | |
to the eye.—Disraeli. | |
God is the author, men are only the players. | |
These grand pieces which are played upon earth | |
have been composed in heaven.— Balzac. | |
Let those that play yonr clowns speak no | |
more than is set down for them.—Shakespeare. | |
The most difficult character in comedy is that |" | |
of the fool, and he must be no simpleton that | |
plays that part.—Cervantes. an . | |
We that live to please must please to live. — | |
Tohnson. | |
In acting, barely to perform the part is not | |
commendable; but to be the least out is con- | |
temptible.—<Steele. | |
. On.-the stage he was natural, simple, affect- | |
ing; it was only when he was off that he was | |
acting. —Goldsmith. | |
ADAPTATION. | |
To wade in marshes and sea margins is the | |
destiny of certain birds, and they are so aceu- | |
rately made for this that they are imprisoncd | |
in those places. Each animal out of its habitat | |
would starve. To the physician, cach man, | |
each woman, is an ainplification of one organ. | |
A soldier, a locksmith, a bank-clerk, and a | |
dancer could not exchange functions. And | |
thus we are victims of adaptation.—merson. | |
ADDRESS. | |
Brahma once asked of Force, “Who is | |
stronger than thou?” She replied, “ Address.” | |
Victor Huyo. | |
A man who knows the world will not only | |
make the most of everything he does know, but | |
of many things he does not know, and will gain | |
more credit by his adroit mode of hiding his | |
ignorance than the pedant by his awkward at- | |
tempt to exhibit his erudition. —Colton. | |
Give a boy address and accomplishments, | |
and yon give him the mastery of palaces and | |
fortnnes where he goes. He has not the trouble | |
of earning or owning them; they solicit him to | |
enter and possess.—Zmerson. | |
There ista certain artificial polish, a com- | |
monplace vivacity acquired by perpetually ming- | |
ling in the beau monde, which, in the commerce | |
of the world, supplies the place of ‘natural | |
snavity and good-lnunor, but is purchased at | |
the expense of all origina] and sterling traits of | |
character.— Washington Irving. | |
ADMIRATION. | |
_ Address makes opportunities ; the want of it | |
gives them.—Bovee. | |
ADMIRATION. | |
It may be laid down as a general rule, that | |
no woman who hath any great pretensions to | |
admiration is ever well pleased in a company | |
where she perceives herself to fill only the sec- | |
ond place.—Fielding. | |
Admiration is a very short-lived passion, | |
that immediately decays upon growing familiar | |
with its object, unless it be still fed with fresh | |
discoveries, and kept alive by a new perpetual | |
succession of miracles rising up to its view.— | |
~ Addison. | |
Those who are formed to-win general admira- | |
tion are seldom calculated to bestow individual | |
happiness.—Lady Blessington. | |
Admiration is the daughter of ignorance.— | |
Franklin. | |
Admiration and moderate contemplation | |
have a great power to prolong life; for these | |
detain the spirits upon pleasing subjects, with- | |
out suffering them to tumultuate andlact disor- | |
derly. But subtle,-acute, -and severe inquiries | |
cut short life; for they fatigue and wear out | |
the spirits. —Byron. | |
We always love those who admire us, but | |
we do not always love those whom we admire.— | |
Rochefoucauld. | |
There is a wide difference hetween -admira- | |
tion and love. The sublime, which is the canse | |
of the former, always dwells on great objects | |
and terrible; the latter on small ones and pleas- | |
ing; -we submit to what we admire, bunt we | |
love what submits to us: in one case we are | |
forced, in the other we are flattered, into com- | |
pliance.—Burke. | |
Amid the most mercenary ages it is but a | |
secondary sort of admiration that is bestowed | |
npon magnificence.— Shenstone. | |
To cultivate sympathy yon must be among | |
living creatures, and thinking about them ; | |
and to cultivate admiration, you must be | |
among beautiful things and looking at them.— | |
- ~ Ruskin, | |
There is 2 long and wearisome step between | |
admiration and imitation —Riedter. ~ | |
The love of admiration leads to fraud, much | |
more than the love of commendation ; but, on | |
the other hand, the latter is much more likely | |
to spoil our good actions by the substitution of | |
an inferior motive-—Bishop Whately. | |
Admiration must be continued by that nov- | |
elty which first produces it; and how minch so- | |
ever is given, there must always be reason to | |
imagine that more remains.—Johzson. | |
--- Chunk 1, Page 25 --- | |
ADVERSITY, | |
ADVERSITY. | |
Adversity has ever been considered as the | |
state in which a man most casily becomes ac- | |
quainted ‘with himself, particularly being free | |
from tlatterers.—./ohnson. ° | |
Prosperity is too apt to prevent us from | |
examining our condnet, but as -adversity leads | |
us ‘to thik properly of our state, it is most | |
beneficial. to us.—Joknson. | |
Sweet are the uses of adversity, which, like | |
the toad, thongh ugly-and venomous, wears yet | |
a-precious jewel in Its head.— Shakespeare. | |
The truly great and good, in aftliiction, bear | |
“a countenanee more princely than ‘they -are | |
wont ; for it is the temper of the highest hearts, | |
like the palm-tree, to strive most upwards when | |
it is most burdened.—Sir P. Sidney. | |
Half the.ills:we hoard within our hearts are | |
ills because we hoard them.— Barry Cornwall. | |
It is often better to have “a great deal of | |
harm happen to one than a little; a great deal | |
may rouse you to remove whut a Jittle will only | |
accustom you to cndure.—Greville. | |
How full of briers is this working-day world! | |
“Shakespeare. | |
Prosperity is the blessing of the Old Testa- | |
ment, adversity is the blessing of the New, which | |
earrieth the greater benediction, and the clearer | |
revelation of God’s favor.—Bacon. | |
Prosperity is no just scale; adversity is the | |
only balance to Weigh friends.—Plutarch. | |
The willow which bends to the tempest often | |
escapes better than the oak, which resists it; and | |
so, In_ great calamitics, it sometimes happens | |
that Hight “and frivolous spirits’ recover their | |
elasticity. and presence of mind sooner -than | |
those of a lofticr character.— ]Valter Scott. | |
Adversity is the trial of principle, ‘Without | |
it, a man hardly knows whether -he is honest or | |
not.—fielding. | |
Men think God is destroying them because | |
he is'tuning them. The violinist screws up the | |
key till the tense cord sounds the concert pitch ; | |
but it is not to break it, but to use it tunefnlly, | |
that he stretches the string upon the musical | |
rack.—Beecher. ~ | |
Adversity is the first path to truth.—Byron, | |
Our dependence upon.God ought to be so | |
entire-and absolute. that we should ever think | |
it necessary, in any kind of distress, to have | |
recourse to human consolations.— | |
° Thomas & Kempis. | |
Adversity borrows its sharpest sting from | |
our impatience.—Dishop Lorne, | |
7 ADVERSITY. | |
He that can heroically endure adversity | |
will bear prosperity with equal greatness of | |
soul; for the mind that cnunot be dejected by | |
the former is not likely to be transported with | |
the latter:— Fielding. | |
Heaven oft in mercy sites, even when the | |
blow severest is.— Joanna Baillie, | |
The brightest crowns that are worn in | |
heaven have been tried, and sinclted, and pol- | |
ished, and gloritiel through the furnace of | |
tribulation. — Chapin. ~ | |
Clouds are the veil behind which the faee | |
of day coquettishly ides itself, to enhance its | |
beauty.—Jtichter. | |
By adversity are wrought the greatest works | |
of admiration, and-all the fair examples of re- | |
nown, out of distressiand misery are grown.— | |
Daniel. | |
One month in the school of affliction will | |
teach thee more than the great precepts of Aris- | |
totle in seven years; for thon canst never judge | |
rightly of human affairs, unless thou hast first | |
felt the blows, and found out the deccits of for- | |
tune—Fuller. ~ . | |
Adversity has the effect of cliciting talents | |
which in prosperous circumstances would have | |
lain dormant.—Jorace. | |
The gods in bounty work up storms -about | |
us, that give mankind occasion to éxert their | |
hidden strength, and throw out into practice | |
virtues that shan the day, and Hie concealed in | |
the smooth seasons and the calms of life.— | |
Addison. | |
Affliction is the good man’s shining scene ; | |
prosperity conceals his brightest rays; as night | |
to stars, woe lustre gives to man.— Young. | |
For whom the Lord loveth he chasteneth.— | |
Bible. | |
Tn adversity he spirited and firm, and with | |
equal prudence lessen your sail when filled with | |
a too fortunate gale of prosperity. — Horace. | |
There is strength deep-bedded in onr hearts, | |
of which we reck but little till the shafts of | |
heaven have pierced its fragile dwelling. “Must | |
not earth be rent before her gems are found 7— | |
Mrs. Hemans. | |
Through danger safety comes — throngh | |
trouble rest—.John Afarston. | |
Affliction is the wholesome soil of virtue, | |
where patience, honor, sweet humanity, calm | |
fortitude, take root and strongly flourish.— | |
Afallet. | |
Much dearér be the things which come | |
through hard distress. —Spenser. | |
--- Chunk 1, Page 26 --- | |
ADVICE. | |
8 ADVICE. | |
Prosperity is‘a‘great teacher ; adversity is a | |
greater. Possession pampers the mind ; priva- | |
tion trains and strengthens it—ZZazitt. | |
He that has no cross deserves no crown.— | |
Quarles. | |
Genuine morality is preserved only in the | |
:school of adversity, and a state of continuous | |
prosperity may easily prove a quicksand to vir- | |
tue.— Schiller. | |
In the wounds our sufferings. plough im- | |
mortal love sows sovereign seed.—J/ussey. | |
The winter’s frost must rend the burr of the | |
nut before the frnit is seen. So adversity tem- | |
pers the human heart, to discover its real worth. | |
Balzac. | |
Know how sublime a thing it is to suffer‘and | |
be strong.—Longfellow. | |
Mr. Bettenham said that virtnous men were | |
like some herbs and spices, that give not out | |
their swect smell till they be broken or crushed. | |
Bacon. | |
Those who have suffered much are like those | |
who know many languages; they have learned | |
to understand and be understood by all.— | |
Mudame Swetchine. | |
A noble heart, like the sun, showeth its | |
greatest countenance in its lowest estate.— | |
Sir P. Sidney. | |
There are minerals ealled hydrophanous, | |
which are not transparent till they are im- | |
mersed in water, when they become go ; .as the | |
hydrophane, a variety of opal. So it is with | |
many a Christian. ‘Till the floods of adver- | |
sity have been poured over him, his character | |
appears marred and clonded by selfishness'and | |
worldly influences. But trials clear away the | |
obscurity, and give distinctness and beauty to | |
his piety. —Professor Hitchcock. | |
Let me_embrace these sour adversities, for | |
wise men say it is the wisest course.— | |
Shakespeare. | |
The most affluent may be stripped of all, and | |
find his worldly comforts, like so many with- | |
ered leaves, dropping from him.—<Sterxe. | |
Be that has never known adversity is but | |
half-acquainted with others, or with himself— | |
Colton. | |
ADVICE, | |
How is it possible to expect that mankind | |
will take advice when they will not so much as | |
take warning ?—Swift. | |
Counsel and conversation is a good second | |
education, that improves all the virtue and | |
correets all the vice of the former, and of nature | |
itselfi— Clarendon. | |
‘ | |
He that gives good advice builds with one | |
hand ; he that gives good counsel and example | |
builds with the:other; but he that gives good | |
admonition and bad exainple builds with one | |
hand and pulls down with the other.—Bucon. | |
He who can advise is sometimes supcrior to | |
him who can give it.— Von Anebel. | |
Adviee, as it always gives a temporary ap- | |
pearance of superiority, can never be very grate- | |
ful, even when it is most necessary or most | |
judicious ; bnt, for the same reason, every one | |
is eager to instruct his neighbors.—J/élinson. | |
The worst men often give the best advice.— | |
Bailey. | |
If to do were as easy as to know what were | |
good to do, chapels had been churehes, and poor | |
men’s cottages, princes’ palaces. Itis a good | |
divine that follows his own instructions: I can | |
easier teach twenty what were good-to be done, | |
than be one of the twenty to follow mine own | |
teaching.—Shakespeure. | |
Good counsels observed are chains to grace. | |
uller. | |
There is nothing of which men are more | |
liberal than their good advice, be their stock of | |
it ever so small; because it seems to carry in it | |
an intimation of their own influence, importance, | |
or worth.— Young. | |
Wait for the season when-to cast good coun- | |
sels upon subsiding passion. — Shakespeare. | |
Nothing is less sincere than our manner of | |
asking and of giving advice. He who asks ad- | |
vice would seem to have a respectful deference | |
for the opinion of his friend, whilst yet he onl | |
aims at getting his own approved of, and his | |
friend“responsible for his conduct.. On the oth- | |
er hand, le who gives it repays the confidence | |
supposed to be placed ia him by a seemingly | |
disinterested zeal, whilst he seldom means any- | |
thing by the‘advice he gives but his own inter- | |
est or reputation —Rochefoucauld. | |
Let no man value ata little price a virtu- | |
ous women’s counsel.— George Chapman. | |
No one was ever the better for advice: in | |
general, what we called giving advice was prop- | |
erly taking an occasion to show our own wis- | |
dom at another’s expense; and to receive advice | |
was little better than tamely to afford another | |
the occasion of raising himself a character from | |
our defects.—Lord Shajtesbury. | |
Mishaps are mastered by advice disereet, and | |
counsel mitigates the greatest smart.—Spenser. | |
When we feel a strong desire to thrust our | |
advice upon others, it is tisually because we | |
suspect their weakness ; but we ought rather to | |
suspect our own.— Colton, | |
--- Chunk 1, Page 27 --- | |
ADVICE. | |
to | |
AFFECTATION. | |
Advice is offensive, not because it lays us | |
Do not give to thy friends the most agreea- | |
open to “unexpected regret, or convicts us of | ble counsels, but the most-advantageous.— | |
‘any fault which has escaped our notice, but | |
beciuse it shows us that we are known to | |
others as well as ourselves ; and the oflicious | |
monitor is persecuted with hatred, not because | |
his aceusation is false, but becanse he assumes | |
the superiority whieh we are not willing to | |
grant him, and has dared to detect whut we | |
desire to conce:al.—J/oknson. - | |
How is it that even castaways can give such | |
good advice ?—.Vinon de U Enclos. | |
A man takes contradiction and advice much | |
more easily than people think, only he will | |
not bear i¢ when violently given, even though | |
it be well founded. Hearts are flowers; they | |
remain open to the softly falling dew, but shut | |
up in the violent downpour of rain.— Richter. | |
Let no man presume to give advice to oth- | |
ers that has not first given good counsel to | |
himself.— Seneca. | |
There is as mnch difference between the coun- | |
se] that a friend giveth and that a man giveth | |
himself, as there is between the counsel of a | |
friend and of a flatterer; for there is: no such | |
flatterer as a man’s self, and there is no such rem- | |
edy against flattery of a man’s self as the liberty | |
of'a friend.— Bacon. | |
It has been well observed that few are better | |
qualified to give others advice than those who | |
have taken the least of it themselves.— Goldsmith. | |
It was the maxim, I think, of Alphonsus of | |
‘Aragon, that dead counsellors ‘are safest. The | |
grave puts an end to flattery and artifice, and | |
the information we receive from books is pure | |
from interest, fear, and ambition. Dead coun- | |
sellors are likewise” most instructive, because | |
they are heard with patience and with rever- | |
ence.— Johnson. | |
Admonish your friends privately, but praise | |
them openly.— Publius Syrus. | |
The greatest trust between man and man is | |
the trust of giving counscl— Bacon. | |
T lay very little stress cither upon asking or | |
giving advice. Generally speaking, they who | |
ask advice know what they wish to do, and re- | |
main firm to their intenticas. A man may al- | |
low himself to be enlightened on yarions points, | |
even upon matters of expediency ,and duty ; but, | |
after all, he mnst determine his course of action | |
for himself.— Withelm-von Zumboldt. | |
Remember this: they that will not be conn- | |
selled cannot be helped. If yon do not hear | |
Reason, she will rap your knuckles.—Franktin. | |
There is nearly as much ability requisite to | |
know how to profit by good advice as to know | |
how to-act for one’s selfi— Rochefoucauld. | |
Luckerman. | |
We ask advice, but we mean approbation. — | |
Colton. | |
No man is so foolish but he may give an- | |
other good counsel sometimes, and no man so | |
wise but he may cusily err, if he takes no | |
other counsel than ‘his own. He that’ was | |
taught only by hinself had a fool for a master: | |
Ben Sonson. | |
Men give away. nothing so liberally as their | |
advice.—Rochefoucauld. | |
I forget whether advice be among the lost | |
things which Ariosto says are to be found in the | |
moon: that and time ought to have been | |
there.— Swift. | |
Advice is seldom welcome. Those who need | |
it most like it least.—/ohnson. ° | |
He who calls in the aid of an equal under- | |
standing doubles his own ; and he who profits | |
by a superior understanding raises his powers | |
to a level with the height of the superior under- | |
standing he unites with —Burke. | |
Harsh connsels have no effect ; they are like | |
hammers which are always repulsed by the | |
anvil.—Helvetius. | |
In order to convince it is necessary to speak | |
with spirit and wit; to advise, i¢ must come | |
from the heart.—D’ Aguesseau. | |
Every man, however wise, requires the ad- | |
yice of some sagacious friend in the affairs of | |
life —Plautus. | |
It-would trely be a fine thing if men suffered | |
themselves to be guided by reason, that they | |
should -acqniesce in the trne remonstrances ad- | |
dressed to them by the writings of the learned | |
‘and the advice of friends. But the greater part | |
are so disposed that the words which enter by | |
one ear do incontinently go out of the other, | |
and begin again by following the custom. The | |
best teacher one can have is necessity.— | |
Francois la None. | |
Even the ablest pilots are willing to receive | |
‘advice from passengers in tempestuous weather, | |
. - ° Cicero. | |
We giveadvice by the bucket, but take it by | |
the grain.— IV. R. Alger. | |
AFFECTATION, | |
Among the numerous stratizems by which | |
pride endeavors to recommend folly to regard, | |
there is scarcely one that ects with less success | |
than affectation, or a perpetual disguise of" the | |
real character by fictitious appearances.— | |
Johnson. | |
ny | |
--- Chunk 1, Page 28 --- | |
AFFECTATION. | |
10 | |
AFFECTION. | |
Great vices are the proper objects of our de- | |
testation, smaller faults of our pity, but affecta- | |
tion appears to be the only true source of the | |
ridiculous. —F%elding. | |
We are never made so ridiculous by the | |
qualities we have, as by those we affect to | |
have.—Rochefoucauld. | |
Affectation is certain deformity ; by forming | |
themselves on fantastic models, the young be- | |
gin with being ridiculous,-and often end in | |
being vicious.—Blair. | |
In all the professions every one affects a | |
particular look and exterior, in order to appear | |
what he wishes to be thonght; so that it may | |
be said the world is made up of appearances.— | |
Kochefoucauld. | |
Aficetation is a greater enemy to the face | |
than the small-pox.— St. Evremond. | |
* Paltry affectation, strained allusions, and | |
disgusting finery are .easily attained by those | |
who choose to wear them; they are but.too fre- | |
quently the badges of ignorance or of' stupidity, | |
whenever it would endeavor to please.— | |
Goldsmith. | |
Affectation hides three times as many virtues | |
as Charity docs sins.—fforace Mann. | |
Affectation is to be always distinguished | |
from hypocrisy, as being the art of counterteit- | |
ing those qualities, which we might with inno- | |
cence and safety, be known to want. Hypocri- | |
sy is the necessary burden of villany ; affectation | |
part of the chosen trappings of folly.—./oknson. | |
Die of a rose in aromatic pain.— Pope. | |
Affectation proceeds from one of these two | |
causes, — vanity or hypocrisy; for as vanity | |
puts us on affecting false characters, in order to | |
purchase applause ; so hypocrisy sets us on an | |
endeavor to-avoid censure, by concealing our | |
vices under an appearance of their opposite vir- | |
tues.— Fielding. | |
Affectation in any part of our carriage is | |
lighting np a candle to see our defects, and nev- | |
er fails to make us taken notice of, either as | |
wanting sense or sincerity.—Locke. | |
All affectation is the vain and ridiculous at- | |
tempt of poverty to appear rich. Zavater. | |
‘When Cicero consulted the oracle at Del- | |
phos, concerning what course of studies he | |
should pursne, the answer was, “ Follow Na- | |
ture.” If every one would do this, affectation | |
would be almost unknown.—J. Beaumont. | |
Avoid all affectation ‘and singularity. What | |
is according to nature is best, and what is con- | |
‘trary to it is always distasteful. Nothing is | |
gracefnl that is not our own.—Jeremy Collier. | |
Hearts may be attracted by assumed quali- | |
ties, but the affections are only to be fixed by | |
those that are real.—Le AYoy. | |
_I will not call vanity and affectation twins, | |
because, more properly, vanity is the mother, | |
and affectation 1s the darling daughter. Vanity | |
is the: sin, and affectation is the punishment; | |
the first may be called the root of self-love, the | |
other the fruit. Vanity is never at its full | |
growth till it spreadeth into affectation, and | |
then it is complete.—Sir H. Saville. | |
There is a pleasnre in affecting affectation. — | |
Lamb. | |
Affectation naturally counterfeits those ex- | |
eellences which are placed at the greatest dis- | |
tanee from possibility of attainment, because, | |
knowing our own deiects, we eagerly endeavor | |
to supply them: with artificial exccllence.— | |
Johnson. | |
Affectation is as necessary to the mind as | |
dress is to the body.— Hazlitt. | |
It is remarkable that great affectation and | |
great absence of it (unconscionsness) are at | |
first sight very similar; they-are both apt to | |
produce singularity.— Bishop Whately. | |
Affectation discovers sooner what one is | |
than it makes known what one would fain | |
appeur to be.—Stanislaus. | |
AFFECTION. | |
There is so little to redeem the dry mass of | |
follies and errors from which the materials of | |
this life are composed, that anything to love or | |
to reverence becomes, as it were, the Sabbath for | |
the mind.— Bulwer Lytton. | |
Loving souls are’ like panpers. They live on | |
what is given them.—dJ/adame Swetchine. | |
How often a new affection makes a new | |
man! The sordid, cowering soul turns heroic. | |
The frivolous girl becomes the steadfust martyr | |
of patience and ministration, trausfigured by | |
deathless love. The career of bownding im- | |
pulses turns into an anthem of sacred decds.— | |
Chapin. | |
It is sweet to feel by what fine-spun threads | |
our affections are drawn together.— Sterze. | |
There are few mortals so insensible that | |
their affections cannot be gained by mildness, | |
their confidence by sincerity, their hatred by | |
seorn or neglect.— Zimmermann. | |
The poor wren, the most diminutive of birds, | |
will fight, her yonng ones in her nest, agaiust | |
the owl.—Shakespeare. | |
The affection of young ladies is of as rapid | |
prowth-as Jack’s beanstalk,and reaches up-to | |
the sky in a night.—TZhackeray. | |
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AFFECTION. | |
jl | |
AFFLICTION. | |
— ns | |
Alas?! our young affections rou to waste, or | |
water but the desert.— Byron. | |
Universal love is a glove without fingers, | |
which fits afl hands alike, and none closcly 3 but | |
true aftection is Jike u glove-with fingers, which | |
fits one hand only, and sits close to that one.— | |
Richter. | |
No decking sets forth anything so much as | |
-affection.—Sir P, Sidney. | |
How sacred, how beantiful, is the feeling of af | |
fection in pure and guileless bosoms! “The proud | |
may sneer at it, the fashionable may eall it fable, | |
Our happiness in this world depends on the | |
affections we areenabled to inspire.— . | |
. Duchesse de Praslin, | |
If there is anything that keeps the mind | |
open to angel’ visits, and repels the ministry of | |
ill, it is human love !— Wilks. | |
The heart will commonly govern the head ; | |
‘and it is certain that any strong passion, set the | |
wrong way, will soon infatuate even the wisest | |
of men ; therefore the first part of wisdom is to | |
watch the aficetions.—Dr. Waterland, | |
The-aftections are immortal! they are the | |
the selfish and dissipated may affect to despise it ; | sympathics which unite the ecascless genera- | |
but the holy passion is surely of heaven, and is , tons.— Bulwer Lytton. | |
made evil hy the corruptions of those whom it | |
was sent to bless and to preserve.—Aforduunt. | |
Our sweetest experiences of affection are | |
meant to be suggestions of that realm which is | |
There are moments of mingled sorrow and + the home of the heart.—Beecher, | |
tenderness, which hallow the caresses of affee- | |
tion. — Washington Irving. | |
AFFLICTION. | |
Affliction is a school of virtue: it corrects | |
One touch of nature makes the whole world ! levity, and interrupts the confidence of sinning. — | |
kin.— Shakespeare. | |
Why doth Fate, that often hestows thousands | |
Atterbury. | |
The -truth is, when we are under any Afilic- | |
of souls on a conqneror or tyrant, to be the ;,tion, we are generally troubled with a malicions | |
sport of his passions, so often deny to the ten- | |
derest and most feeling hearts one kindred one | |
on which to lavish their affections? Why fs it | |
that Love must so often sigh in vain for an/j | |
object, and Uate never *—Jtiehter, | |
‘kind of melancholy; we only dwell snd pore | |
upon the sad -and dark ocgurrences of Provi- | |
dence, but never take notice of the more benign | |
and bright ones. Our way in this world is like | |
a walk under a row of trees, checkered with | |
light and shade; and heeause we cannot all | |
Of allearthly mnsie, that which reaches the'palong walk in the sunshine, we therefore per- | |
farthest’into heaven is the beating of a loving |'verscly fix only upon the darker passages, and | |
heart.-—Beecher. | |
so lose all the comfort of our comforts. -We | |
are like froward children who, if you take one | |
Affections injured by tyranny, or rigor of jof their playthings from than, throw away all | |
compnision, like tempest-threatened trees, un- | |
firmly rooted, never spring to timely growth.— | |
John Ford. | |
There comes a time when the souls of hnman | |
beings, women more even than men, begin ‘to | |
faint for the atmosphere of the affections they | |
are made to breathe.—JZo/mes. | |
How cling we! to'a thing our hearts have | |
nursed !—Jrs. C. Lf. W. sling. | |
If the deepest and best affections which God | |
has given us sometimes brood over the: heart | |
like doves of peace, — they sometisnes suck out | |
our life-blood Tike yampires.—Mrs, Jameson. | |
. Ihave given snek, and know how tender it | |
is to love the bube that milks me.—Shakespeare. | |
Let the foundation of thy affection be virtue, | |
then make the building as rich and as glorious | |
.ag thou canst; if the foundation be beauty or | |
sycalth, and the building virtue, the fonudation | |
is too weak for the bnildiug, and it will fall: | |
happy is he, the palace of whose affection is | |
founded upon virtue, walled with riches, glazed | |
with beauty, and roofed with honor. —Quazles, | |
the rest in spite. —Bishop Lopkins. | |
As threshing separates the wheat from the | |
chaff, so docs afiliction purify virtue.— Burton. | |
God washes the eyes by-tears until they can | |
behold the invisible land where tears shall come | |
no more. O love! © affliction! ye are the | |
guides that show us the way through the great | |
iniry space where our loved ones walked ; and, | |
as hounds ‘easily follow the scent hetvre the | |
dew be risen, so God teaches us, while yet onr | |
sorrow is wet, to follow on and find our dear | |
ones in heaven.— Beecher. ~ " | |
It is from the remembrance of joys we have | |
lost that the arrows of afiliction are pointed.— | |
Mackenzie. | |
It is a great thing, when our Gethsemane | |
hours come, when the cup of bitterness is pressed | |
to our lips, and when we pray that it may pass | |
away, to feel that it is not fate, that it Is not | |
necessity, but divine love for good ends working | |
upon us.—- Chapin. | |
“If you wonld not have affliction visit you | |
twice, listen-at once to what it teaches. — Burgh. | |
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AFFLICTION. | |
12 | |
AFFLICTION. | |
The cloud which appeared to the prophet | |
Ezekiel carricd with it winds and storms, but it | |
was cnvironed with a golden circle, to teach us | |
that the storms of afiliction, which happen to | |
God’s' children, are encompassed with bright- | |
ness and smiling felicity —N. Caussin. | |
When sorrows come, they come not single | |
spies, but in battalions.— Shakespeare. | |
In thy silent wishing, thy voiceless, unut- | |
tered‘prayer, let the desire be not cherished that | |
afflictions may not visit thee; for well has Jit | |
been said, “Such prayers never seem to have | |
wings. I am willing to be purificd through | |
sorrow, and to accept it meckly as-a blessing. | |
I see that alt the clonds are angels’ faces, and | |
their voices speak harmoniously of the ever- | |
lasting chime.”—Jfrs. L. AL Child. | |
Amid my list of blessings infinite stands this | |
-.the foremost, “ That my heart has bled.” — | |
‘ Young. | |
Tears and sorrows and losses are a part | |
of what must be experienced in this present | |
state of life: some for our manifest good, and | |
vall, therefore, it is trusted, for our good con- | |
cealed ; —for our final and greatest good.— | |
Letgh Hunt. | |
v | |
Affiictions clarify the soul.—Quarfes. | |
There is an elasticity in the human mind, | |
capable of bearing much, but which will not | |
show itself until a certain weight of affliction be | |
put upon it; its powers may be compared to | |
those vehicles whose springs are so contrived | |
that they get on smoothly enongh when leaded, | |
but jolt confoundedly when they have nothing | |
to bear.— Colton. | |
Calamity is man’s true touchstone. —Fletcher. | |
In a great afftiction there is no light cither | |
in the stars or in the sun; for when the inward | |
light is fed with fragrant oil, there can be no | |
darkness though the sun should go out. But | |
when, like a sacred lamp in the temple, the | |
inward light is quenched, there is no light out- | |
wardly, though‘a thousand suns should preside | |
in the heavens.— Beecher. | |
Afilictions sent by Providence melt the con- | |
stanecy of the noble-minded, but confirm the | |
obduracy of the vile. The same furnace that | |
hardens clay liqnefics gold; and _in the strong | |
manifestations of divine power Pharaoh found | |
his punishment, but David his pardon.— Colton. | |
With every anguish of our earthly part the | |
spirit’s sight grows clearer; this was meant | |
when Jesus touched the blind man’s lids with | |
clay.— Lowell. | |
God afflicts with the mind of a father, and | |
kills for no other purpose but that he may raise | | |
again.— South. + | |
Man is born to trouble, as the sparks fly up- | |
ward.— Bible. | |
The very afflictions of onr earthly pilgrimage | |
are presages of our futnre glory, as shadows | |
indicate the sun.— Richter. | |
As the most generous vine, if it is not pruned, | |
rims out into many superfluous stems, and | |
grows at last weak and fruitless; so doth | |
the Lest man, if he be not cut short of his de- | |
sires and pruned with afflictions. If it be pain- | |
fal to bleed, it is-worse to wither. Let me be | |
pruned, that I may grow, rather than be cut up | |
to burn.— Bishop Hall. | |
_ Com is cleaned with wind, and the soul | |
with chastening.— Géorge Herbert. | |
No chastening for the present scemeth to be | |
joyous, but gricvous; nevertheless afterward it | |
yieldeth the peaceable fruit of righteousness | |
unto them which are exercised thereby.— Bible. | |
Fairer and more fruitful in spring the vine | |
becomes from the skilful pruning of the hns- | |
handinan ; tess pure had been the gums which | |
the odorous balsam gives if it had uot been cut | |
by the knife of the Arabian shepherd.— | |
Aletastasio. | |
The good are better made by ill, as odors | |
crushed are sweeter still !—ogers. | |
No man ever stated his griefs as lightly as | |
he might. For it is only the finite that has | |
wrought and suffered; the infinite Hes stretched | |
in smiling repose.—Emerson. | |
The loss of a beloved connection awakens | |
an interest in heaven before unfelt—Bovee. | |
The great, in affliction, bear a countenance | |
more princely than they are wont; for it is the | |
temper of the highest heart, like the palm- | |
tree, to strive most upward when it is most | |
burdened.—Sir P. Sidney. | |
What scem to us but dim funereal tapers | |
may be heaven’s distant lamps.— Longfellow. | |
Extraordinary afflictions are not always the | |
punishment of extraordinary: sins, but some- | |
times the trial of extraordinary graces | |
Matthew Henry. | |
The eternal stars shine out as soon as it is | |
dark enough.— Carlyle. . ‘ | |
7 a | |
As they lay copper in aquafortis before they | |
begin to engrave it, so the Lord usnally pre- | |
pares us by the searching, softening discipline | |
of affliction for making a deep, lasting impres- | |
sion of himself upon our hearts.—J. T. Nottidge. | |
With the wind of tribulation God separates, | |
in the floor of the soul, the chaff from the | |
corn.— Molinos. | |
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AGE. | |
13 | |
AGE. | |
Sanctified afllictions'are spiritual promotions. | |
Matthew Lenry. | |
God is now spoiling us of what would other- | |
wise have spoiled us. When God makes the | |
world too hot for his people to hold, they will: | |
let it go—T. Powell. | |
Tlow binnt are all the arrows of thy quiver | |
in comparison with those of guilt !—Blair. | |
Afflictions are the medicine of the mind. | |
If they are not toothsome, let it snffice that they | |
are whdlesome. It is not required in physic | |
thatit should please, but heal.— Bishop Henshaw. | |
*T is a physic that is bitter to sweet end.— | |
Shakespeare. | |
There will be no Christian but what will | |
havea Gethsemane, but every praying Christian | |
will find that there is no Gethsemane without | |
its angel !—Rev. T. Binney. | |
AGE. | |
There are three classes into which all the | |
women past seventy years of age, that ever I | |
knew, were to be divided: 1. That dear old | |
goul ; 2. That old woman ; 3. That old witch— | |
Coleridge. | |
When-a noble life has prepared old age, it | |
is not the decline that it reveals, but the first | |
days of immortality.—adame de Staél. | |
The evening of life brings with it its lamps.— | |
. Joubert. | |
Can man_be so age-stricken that no faintest | |
sunshine of his youth inay revisit him once a | |
year? Itis impossible. The moss on our time- | |
worn mansion brightens into beauty ; the good | |
old pastor, who once dwélt here, renewed his | |
prime and regained his boyhood in the genial | |
breezes of his nineticth spring. Alas for the | |
worn and heavy soul, if, whether in youth or | |
age, it has outlived its privilege of springtime | |
sprightliness !—Zfaicthorne. | |
Age. makes us not childish, as some say; it | |
finds us still true children.— Goethe. | |
Most long lives resemble those threads of | |
gossamer, tle nearest approach to nothing un- | |
meaningly prolonged, séarce visible pathways of | |
soine worm front his cradle to his grave.—Lowell. | |
O sir, you are old; nature in you stands on | |
the very verge of her confine ; you should be ruled | |
and lel by some diseretion, that_discerns your | |
state better than you yourself.— Shakespeare. | |
Age. is rarely despised but when it is con- | |
temptible.— Johnson. | |
That which is usually called dotage is not | |
the weak point of all old men, but ony of such | |
as are distinguished by their levity —Cicero. | |
There is'a quict repose and steadiness about | |
;the happiness of age, ifthe life has been well | |
spent. Its feebleness is not painful. The ner- | |
lyous system has lost its-acutenesss. Tven in | |
i mature years we feel that a burn, a scald, a cut, | |
tis more tolerable than it was in the sensitive | |
period of youth —J/azlitt. | |
Old age is a tyrant, which forbids the pleas- | |
ures of youth on pain of death.—Rochefoucauld. | |
Life grows darker-as we go on, till only one | |
pure light is left shining on it; and that is faith. | |
Old age, like'solitnde and sorrow, has its revela- | |
tions.—iifadame Swetchine. . - | |
Old age likes to dwell in the recollections | |
of the past, and, mistaking the speedy march of | |
years, often is inclined to take the prudence of | |
the winter time for a-fit wisdom of midsummer | |
days. Manhoed is bent to the passing cares of | |
the passing moment, and holds so closely to his | |
cyes the shect of “to-day,” that it screens the | |
“to-morrow ” from his sight.—Aossuth. | |
To be happy, we must be trne to nature, and | |
carry our age along with us. —Z/azlitt. | |
Winter, which strips the leaves from aronnd | |
us, makes us sec the distant regiuns they for- | |
merly concealed ; so does old age rob us of our | |
enjoyments, only to enlarge ‘the prospect of | |
eternity before us—Richter. | |
They say women and music should never | |
be dated. — Goldsmith. | |
Old-age is a lease nature only signs as a | |
particnlar favor, and it may be, to one only in | |
the space of two or three ages ; and then with a | |
pass to boot, to carry him through-all the trav- | |
erses and difficulties she has strewed in the way | |
of his long carcer.—3Lontaigne. | |
Crabbed‘age and youth cannot live together. | |
: . Shakespeare. | |
If the memory is more flexible in childhood, | |
it is more tenacious in mature age ; if childhood | |
has sometimes the memory of words, old age | |
has that of things, which impress themselves | |
according to.the clearness of the conception of | |
the thought which we wish to retain.— | |
‘ . De Bonstetten, | |
Old age has deformities enough of its own; | |
do not:add to it the deformity of vice—Cato. | |
We should provide for onr age, in order.that | |
our age may have no_urgént wants of this world | |
to absorb it from the meditation of the next. | |
It is awful to see the lean hands of _dotage | |
making’a coffer of the grave !—Bulwer Lytton. | |
There cannot live a more unhappy creature | |
than an ill-natured old man, who is neither | |
capable of receiving pleasures nor sensible of | |
doing them to others.—Sir IV. Temple. | |
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AGE. | |
14 | |
AGE. | |
A_comfortable old age is the reward of a | |
well-spent youth ; therefore instead of its intro- | |
ducing dismal and melancholy prospects of | |
decay, it should give us hopes of eternal youth | |
in a better world. —Palmer. | |
For my own part, I had rather be old only | |
a short time than be old before I really am, 50 | |
tcero. | |
He who would pass the declining years of | |
his life with honor and comfort, should when | |
young, consider that he may one day become | |
old, and remember, when he is 01d, that he has | |
once been young.— Addison. | |
Age, that lessens the enjoyment of life, in- | |
ereases our desire of living — Goldsmith. | |
The damps of autumn sink into the leaves | |
and prepare them for the, necessity of their fall ; | |
and thus insensibly are we, as years close round | |
us, detached from our tenacity of life by the | |
gentle pressure of recorded sorrows.—Landor. | |
The defects of the mind, like those of thé face, | |
grow Worse as we grow old.—Rochefoucauld. | |
Old age is never honored among ns, but only | |
indulged, as childhood is ; and old men lose.one | |
of the most precious rights of ian, — that of | |
being judged by their peers.— Goethe. | |
Thongh I look old, yet I am strong and | |
lusty; for in my youth I never did-apply hot | |
and rebellions liquors in my blood; nor did not | |
with unbashful forehead woo the means of | |
weakness and debility; therefore my age. is as | |
a lusty winter, frosty, but kindly —Shakespeare. | |
We do not count a man’s years until he has | |
nothing clse to count.— Emerson. | |
I think that to have known one good old | |
man — one man, who, through the chances and | |
mischances of a long life, has carried his heart | |
in his hand, like a palm-branch, waving all dis- | |
cords into peace —helps our faith in God, in | |
ourselves, and in each other more than many | |
sermons.—G. JV. Curtis. | |
A healthy old fellow, who is not a fool, is the | |
happiest creature living. —Stee/e. | |
Our life much resembles wine: when there | |
is only a little remaining, it becomes vinegar ; | |
for all the ills of human nature crowd to old | |
age as if it were a workshop.—Antiphanes. | |
Age imprints more wrinkles in the mind, | |
than it does in the face, and souls are never, or | |
yery rarely seen, that in growing old do not | |
smell sour and musty. Man moves all, to-: | |
-gether, both towards-his perfection and decay. | |
Montagne. | |
Thesilver livery of advistd age.— Shakespeare. | |
It is noticeable how intuitively in age we go | |
back with strange fondness to all that is fresh | |
in the earliest dawn of youth. If we never | |
cared for little children before, we delight to see | |
them roll in the grass over which we hobble on | |
crutches. The grandsire turns wearily from his | |
middle-aged, care-worn son, to listen with infant | |
langh to the prattle of an infant grandchild. | |
It is the old who plant young trees ; it is the old | |
iwho are most saddened by the autumn, and feel | |
most delight in the returning spring.— | |
Bulwer Lytton. | |
_ A-yonthful age is desirable, but-aged youth | |
is troublesome and grievous.— Chilo. | |
True wisdom, indeed, springs from the wide | |
brain which is fed from the deep heart; and it | |
is only when age warms its withering concep- | |
tions at the memory of its youthful fire, when it | |
makes experience serve aspiration, and knowl- | |
edge ilhumine the diffienlt paths through which | |
thoughts thread their way into facts, —it is | |
only then that age becomes broadly and nobly | |
wwise.— Whipple. | |
No wise man ever wished to be younger.— | |
Swift. | |
The mental powers acquire their full robust- | |
ness when the cheek loses its rnddy hue, and | |
the limbs their elastic step; and pale thought | |
sits on manly brows; and the watchman, as he | |
walks his rounds, sees the stndent’s lamp burn- | |
ing far into the silent night—Dr. Guthrie. | |
Childhood itself is scarcely more lovely than | |
a cheerful, kindly, snnshiny old age.— | |
Mrs. L. Mf. Child. | |
Last scene of ‘all, that ends this strange, | |
eventful history, is second childishness, and | |
mere oblivion ; sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, | |
sans everything.— Shakespeare. | |
The enthusiasm of old men is singularly like | |
that of infancy.—Gerard de Nerval. | |
The tendency of old age, say the physiol- | |
ogists, is to form bone. It is as rare as it is | |
pleasant, to meet with-an old_man avhose opin- | |
ions are not ossificd —J/. F’. Boyse. | |
It is difficult to grow old gracefully.— | |
Madame de Staél. | |
The heart never grows better by age; I fear | |
rather worse; always harder. A young liar | |
will be an old one; and a young knave will | |
only be-a greater knave as he grows older — | |
Chester field. | |
Though sinking in decrepit age, he prema- | |
turely falls whose memory records no_benefit | |
As we grow old we become more foolish and | |
more wise.—Rochefoucauld. | |
conferred on him by man. They only have | |
lived long who have lived virtuously. —Sheridan. | |
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AGE. | |
15 | |
AGE. | |
—_————— | |
Men, like peaches and pears, grow, sweet a | |
httle while betore they begin to deeay.—/folmes. | |
Time has laid Ins hand upon my heart | |
gently, not smiting it; but as a harper lays his | |
open palm upon his harp, to deaden its vibra- | |
tions. — Long/ellow. | |
Years do not make sages; they only make | |
old men.—.adame Swetchine. | |
Men of age object too much, consult too | |
long, adventure too-little, repent too soon, and | |
seldom drive business home to-the full period, | |
but content themselves with a mediocrity of; | |
success.— Bacon. | |
When men grow virtuous in their old age, | |
they are merely making a sacrifice to God of | |
the Devil's leavings.— Swit. | |
Time’s chariot-wheels make their carriage- | |
road in the fairest face.— Rochefoucauld. | |
I feel 1 am growing old for want of some- | |
body to tell ne that Jam looking‘as young as | |
ever. Charming falschood! There_is a vast | |
deal of vital air in loving words.—Landor. | |
Years steal fire from the mind as vigor from | |
the limb.— Byron. | |
Like-a morning dream, life becomes morc” | |
and: more bright the longer we live, and_the | |
reason of everything appears more clear, What | |
has puzzled us before seems less mysterious, ; | |
and the crooked paths look straighter as we ; | |
approach the end.— Richter. | |
What folly can be ranker? Like our shad- | |
ows, our wishes lengthen as our sun declines. | |
Young. | |
Every man desires to live tong ; but no man | |
would be old.—Swif. ° | |
Age and sufferings had -already marked ont | |
the first incisions for death, so that he required | |
bnt little effort to ent her down; for it is with | |
men as with trees, they are notched long before | |
felling, that their life-sap may flow out.—Aickter. | |
We see time’s furrows on another’s brow; | |
how few themselves, in that just mirror, see !— | |
Young.} | |
There is nothing more disgraceful than that | |
an old man should have nothing to produce as | |
a proof that he has lived long except his years. | |
Seneca. | |
Old men’s lives are lengthened shadows ; | |
their evening sun falls coldly on the earth, but | |
the shadows all point to the morning.—fichter | |
persons fancy they have expe- | |
eause they have grown old !— | |
Stanislaus. | |
How man | |
rienee simply be | |
theart beating under fourscore winters.— | |
Tyenerate old age; and I Jove not the man | |
who can look without cmotion upon the sunset | |
of life, when the dusk of evening begins to | |
gather over the watery cye, and the shadows | |
of twilight grow. brouder and deeper upon the | |
understanding. —Lengfellow, | |
The surest sign of age is loneliness, While | |
one finds company, in hitnself and his | pursuits, | |
he cannot be old, whatever his years uay be.— | |
Alcott. | |
As sailing into port is a happier thing than | |
the voyage, so is age happier than youth; that | |
is, when the voyage from youth is made with | |
Christ at the helm.—Jtev. /. Pulsford. | |
It is only necessary to grow old to become | |
more indulgent. Isce no fault committed that. | |
I have not committed myself. —Goethe. | |
Vanity in-an old man is charming. It is a. | |
proof of an open nature. Eighty winters have | |
not frozen him up, or taught him coneeal- | |
ments. In a young person it is simply al- | |
lowable ; we do not expect him to be above it. | |
Bouee. | |
The smile upon the old man’s lip, like the | |
last rays of the setting sun, pierces the heart | |
with a sweet and sad emotion. ‘There is still a. | |
ray, there is still a smile; but they may be the | |
last.—Afadathe Swetchine. | |
An aged Christian, with the snow of time | |
on his head, may remind us that those points | |
of earth are whitest which are nearest heaiven.— | |
Chapin. | |
Tell me what vou find better or more’ hon- | |
orable than age. Is not wisdom entailed upon | |
it? Take the pre-eminence of it in everything; | |
in an old friend, in old wine, in an old pedigree. | |
Shakerly Marmion. | |
The clock of his age had struck fifty-cight.— | |
Cellini. | |
Natures that have: much.heat, and great and | |
violent desires and perturbations, are not ripe | |
for action till they have passed the meridian of | |
their years.—ucon. | |
A time there is when like a-thrice-tohl tale | |
long-rifled life of sweets can yield no.more.— | |
Young. | |
of time.— | |
Meltowed by the stealing hours | |
- Shakespeare. | |
Age and youth look upon life from the o | |
posite ends of the telescopic ; it is exéeedingly | |
long, — it is exceedingly short.—Beccker. | |
Nature is full of freaks, and now puts an old | |
head on young shoulders, and then a young | |
Emerson. | |
--- Chunk 1, Page 34 --- | |
AGE. | |
16 | |
AGRICULTURE. | |
As we advance in life the circle of our pains | |
enlarges, while that of our pleasures contracts. | |
Madame Swetchine. | |
gain toward earth, is | |
dull and heavy.— | |
Shakespeare. | |
Nature, as it grows a | |
fashioned for the journey, | |
Old age was naturally more honored in | |
times when people could not know much more | |
than what they had seen.—/oubert. | |
Few people know how to be old.— | |
Rochefoucauld. | |
Old age is not one of the beauties of crea- | |
tion, but it is one of its harmonies. The law | |
of contrasts is one of the laws of beanty. Under | |
the conditions of our climate, shadow gives | |
light its worth; sternness enhances mildness ; | |
solemnity, splendor. Varying proportions of | |
size support and subserve one another.— | |
Madame Swetchine. | |
When men once reach their autumn, sickly | |
joys fall off apace, as yellow leaves from trees.— | |
Young. | |
Gray hairs seem to my fancy like the light | |
of a sott moon, silvering over the evening of | |
life —Richter. | |
We grizzle every day. I see no need of it. | |
Whilst we converse with what is above us, we | |
do not grow old, but grow yonng.— Emerson. | |
One’s age should be tranquil, as one’s child- | |
hood should be playful; hard work, at either | |
extremity of human existence, seems to me out | |
of place; the morning and the evening should | |
be alike cool and peaceful; at midday the | |
sun may burn, and men may labor under it— | |
Dr Arnold. | |
At twenty years of age, the will reigns; at | |
thirty, the wit; and at forty, the judgment.— | |
Grattan. | |
Depend upon it, a man never experiences | |
such pleasure or grief after fourteen years as he | |
does before, unless in some cases, in his first | |
love-making, when the sensation is new to him. | |
Charles Kingsley. | |
We hope to grow old, yet we fear old age; | |
that is, we are willing to live, and afraid to die. | |
Bruyere. | |
Some one has said of a fine and honorable | |
old age, that it was the childhood of immor- | |
tality.—Pindar. | |
Cautious age suspects the flattering form, | |
and only credits what experience tells—— Johnson. | |
Each departed friend is a magnet that at- | |
tracts us to the next world, and the old man | |
lives among graves.—Richter. | |
AGREEABLE. | |
The character in conversation whieh com- | |
monly passes for agreeable is made up of civility | |
and talsehood.— Swift. | |
The art of being agreeable frequently mis- | |
earries through the ambition which accompanies | |
it. Wit, learning, wisdom, —what can more | |
effectually conduge to the profit and delight of | |
society? Yet I am sensible that a man may | |
be too invariably wise, learned, or witty to be | |
agrecable ; and I take the reason of this to be, | |
that pleasure cannot be bestowed by the simple | |
and unmixed exertion of any one faculty or | |
accomplishment.— Cumberland. | |
If you wish to appear agreeable in society | |
you must consent to be taught many things | |
which you know already.—Zavater. | |
We may say of agreeableness, as distinct | |
from beauty, that it consists in a symmetry of | |
which we know not the rules, and a secret con- | |
jformity of the features to each other, and to | |
the air and complexion of the person.— | |
Rochefoucauld. | |
Most arts require long study and applica- | |
ition; but the most useful art of ail, that of | |
pleasing, requires only the desire.— Chesterfield. | |
Nature has left every man a capacity of | |
being agreeahle, though not of shining in com- | |
pany ; and there are a hundred men sufficiently | |
qualified for both who, by a very few faults, | |
that they might correct in half an hour, are not | |
so much as tolerable.— Swift. | |
AGRICULTURE. | |
Agriculture is the most certain source of | |
strength, wealth, and independence. Commerce | |
flourishes by circumstances precarions, contin- | |
gent, transitory, almost as liable to change as | |
the winds and waves that waft it to our shores. | |
She may well be termed the-younger sister; for, | |
in all emergencies, she looks to agriculture, | |
both for defence and for supply.—Colion. | |
The first three men in the world were a gar- | |
dener,-a ploughman, and a grazier ; and if any | |
man object that the second of these was a mur- | |
derer, I desire he would consider that as soon | |
as he was so, he quitted our profession and | |
turned builder.— Cowley. | |
In ancient times, the sacred plough employed | |
the kings, and awful fathers of mankind.— | |
Thomson. | |
In the age of acorns, antecedent to Ceres | |
and the royal plonghman Triptolemus, a single | |
barley-corn had been of more value to mankind | |
than ‘all the diamonds that -glowed in the mines | |
of India.—H. Brooke. | |
He who would look with contempt upon the | |
farmer’s pursuit is not worthy the name of a | |
man.— Beecher, | |
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ALCHEMY: | |
17 | |
AMBITION. | |
Trade inereases the wealth and glory of al | |
country ; but its real strength and -stamina sare | |
to be iooked for among the cultivators of the | |
land.—Lord Chatham. | |
He that sows his grain. upon inarble -will | |
have many a hungry ‘belly before his harvest. | |
Arbuthnot, | |
acricultarist is the most- pure and hely ofany | |
cluss of men; pure, heeause it is the most"! | |
A man conversing in enrnest, if he watch his | |
intellectunl yirocesses, will find that’ a inaterial | |
image,* more or less Jimiinous, arises in his | |
mind, contemporancous with every thought, | |
‘which furnishes the vestment of -tle thonght, | |
Menee, good writing nnd brilliant discourse 1 ure | |
1 | |
perpetual allegories, — Emerson. | |
' | |
| AMBASSADOR. | |
Inca moral point of view, the life of the}: | |
‘abroad for the commouwealth:—Sir H, Wotton. | |
An ambassador is ‘an honest man sent to lie | |
healthful, and vice can hardly find time tol AMBITION, | |
contaminate it; and holy, because it brings | |
the. Deity perpetnally before his view, giving | |
him thereby the most exalted notions of sn- | |
preme power, and the most fascinating and | |
endearing view of moral benignity:— | |
Lord John Russell. | | |
The farmers are the founders of civilization. | |
Daniel Webster. | |
And he gave it for his opinion, that whoever | |
cotid make two ears of corn, or two blades of | |
grass, to grow upon a spot of ground where | |
mankind, ‘and do mote essential service to his | |
country, than the whole race of politicians put | |
together —Swif. | |
only one grew before, would deserve better al | |
Command large ficlds, but cultivate. small] | |
ones.— Virgil. | |
The frost is God’s plough, which he drivés | |
throngh every inch of ground in the worid, | |
opening each elod, and pulverizing the whole.— | |
Fuller. | |
“ Agricniture, for-an honorabie and high- | |
minded man,” says Xenophon, “is the best of | |
all occnpations and arts by which men procure | |
the means of Hiving.”—~Aleote. | |
ALCHEMY. | |
Alchemy may be compared to the man who | |
told his sons he had left them gold buried some- | |
where in his vineyard; where they by digging | |
found no gold, but by turning up the mould, | |
ahiont the roots of their vines, procured a plen-! | |
tifal vintage. So the search and endeavors to ! | |
make gold have brought many usefi inven- | |
tions.and instructive experiments to light.— | |
Bacon. | |
T have ‘always looked npon ‘alchemy in nat- | |
ural philosophy to be like enthusiasm in di- | |
vinity,-and te have troubied ‘the world much to | |
the sane purpose.—Sir WW. Temple. | |
ALLEGORY. | |
Allegories, when well chosen, are like so | |
many tracks of light in & ‘discourse, that make | |
everything about them clear and beautiful.— | |
Addison, | |
Allegory dwells in-a transparent palace.— | |
Le Mierre. | |
2 | |
You have greatly ventured, but all must do | |
sq who would greatly win. —Byron. | |
To be ambitions of truce honor, of the true | |
glory and perfection of our natures, is the very | |
“principle and incentive of ‘virtne; but. to be | |
ambitious of titles, of place, of ceremonial re- | |
spects and civil pageantry, is as v | |
Who soars too near the sua, with golden | |
wings, melts them.— Shakespeare, | |
It is a true observation of ancient: writers, | |
that as men are apt to be cast down by adversi- | |
ty, so they are easily satiated with prosperity, | |
and that joy and grief produce the same ctleets. | |
For whenever men are not obliged by necessity | |
to fight they fight from ambition, which is so | |
powerful a passion in the iuman breast that | |
however high we reach we are never satisfied. — | |
Machiavelli, | |
Ambition becomes displeasing when it is | |
once satiated ; there is a renetion ;*and as our | |
spirit, till our last sigh, is always aiming toward | |
some object, it falls back on itself, having noth- | |
ing else on which to rest ;-and having reached | |
the summit, it longs to descend.— Corneille. | |
Nothing is too high for the daring of mortals: | |
we storm heaven itself in our folly: .— Horace. | |
If not for that of conscience, vet'at least for | |
ambition’s sake, let us reject ambition, let us dis- | |
dain that thirst of honor and renown, so low.and | |
mendicant, that it makes us beg it ‘of all sorts | |
of people.—.Vontaigne. | |
The towcring hope of eagle-cyed ambition. | |
Smollett. | |
The modesty of certain ambitions persons | |
consists in hecoming great without making too | |
much noise; it may be said that they advance | |
in the world on tiptoe.— loltaire. | |
When-ambitious nen find an open passage, | |
they are rather Imsy than dangerons ; and if | |
well watehed in’ their. procecdings, ‘they will | |
catch themselves in their own snare, and pre- | |
pare‘a way for their own destrncnon. — Quarles. | |
He who surpasses or subdues, mankind must | |
look down on the hate of those below.—Byron. | |
naud little as. | |
the things are which we court.—Sir P. Sidney *- | |
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“AMBITION. | |
18 | |
AMBITION | |
Fling away ambition; by that sin fell the | |
angels: how can man then, the image of his | |
Maker, hope to win by it ?—Shukespeare. | |
Ambition often puts men upon doing the | |
meanest offices; so climbing is performed in the | |
same posture with creeping —Suift. | |
It is the nature of ambition to make men | |
liars and cheats, and hide the truth in their | |
breasts, and show, like jugelers, another thing | |
in their mouths; to ent all friendships and _en- | |
mnities to the measure of their interest, and to | |
make a good countenance without the help of a | |
good will.—Sallust. - | |
It is by attempting. to reach the top at a | |
single leap that so much misery is produced in | |
the world.—Cobbett. | |
Ambition is;a-lust that is never quenched, | |
grows more inflamed and madder by enjoy- | |
ment.— Otway. | |
Every one has before his eyes an end whieh | |
he pursues till death ; but for many that end is | |
a featber which they blow before them im the | |
air.— Nicoll. | |
Vauiting ambition, which overleaps itselfi— | |
Shakespeare. | |
Say what we will, you may he sure that am- | |
pition is an error; its wear and tear of heart | |
are never recompensed,—it steals away the | |
freshness of life, —it deadens its vivid and | |
social enjoyments, — it shuts our souls to our | |
own youth, — and we are old ere we remember | |
that we have made a fever and a labor of our | |
raciest years — Bulwer Lytton. | |
Ambition thinks no face so beautiful as that | |
which looks from under a crown.— | |
Sir P. Sidney. | |
a | |
Like dogs in a wheel, birds in'a cage, or | |
squirrels in a chain, ambitions men still climb | |
and climb, with great labor, and incessant anxi- | |
ety, but never reach the top.—Burton. | |
Ambition hath but two steps: the lowest, | |
blood ; the highest, envy.— Lilly. | |
There is a native baseness in the ambition | |
which seeks beyond its desert, that never shows | |
more conspicuonsly than when, no matter how, | |
it temporarily gains its object.—Simms. | |
Ambition is the mind’s immodesty.— | |
Sir W. Davenant. | |
A slave has but one master; the ambitious | |
man has as many masters as there are persons | |
whose aid may contribute to the advancement | |
of his fortune.—Brayére. | |
Ambition is the germ from which all growth | |
of nobleness proceeds.—Z. D. English. | |
_ How dost thon wear, and weary out th | |
day, restless ambition, never at an end !—Danied. | |
Ambition is frequently the only refnge which | |
life has left to the denied or mortified affec- | |
tions. We chide at the grasping eye, the dar- | |
ing wing, the soul that scems to thirst for | |
sovereignty only, and know not that the flight | |
of this ambitious bird has been from a- bosom | |
or a home that is filled with ashes.—Simms. | |
The path of glory leads but to the grave.— | |
Gray. | |
Wisdom is corrupted by ambition, even | |
when the quality of the ambition is intellectual. | |
For ambition, even of this quality, is but-a form | |
of self-love.—/Zenry Taylor. | |
What is ambition? Jt is a glorions cheat ! | |
Angels of light walk not so dazzlingly the sap- | |
phire walls of heaven.— Hillis. | |
Remarkable places are like the summits of | |
rocks ; cagles and reptiles only can get there. — | |
Mudame Necker. | |
Hard, withering toil only can achieve a | |
name; and long days and months and years | |
must be passed im the chase of that bubble, rep- | |
utation, which, when once grasped, breaks in | |
your eager clutch into a hundred lesser bubbles, | |
that soar above you still.—dfitchell. | |
We frequently pass from love to ambition, | |
but one seldom returns from ambition to love.— | |
Rochefoucauld. | |
Ambition makes the same mistake concern- | |
ing power that avarice makes concerning | |
wealth. She begins by accumulating power as | |
a mean to happiness, and she finishes by con- | |
tinning to accumulate it as an end.— Colton, | |
Awbition, like a torrent, never looks back.— | |
Ben Jonson. | |
Ambition, that high and glorious passion, | |
which makes such havoe among the sons of | |
men, arises from a proud desire of honor and | |
distinction ; and when the splendid trappings | |
in whieh it is usually caparisoned are removed, | |
will be found to consist of the mean materials | |
of envy, pride, and covetousness.— Burton. | |
Ambition is an idol, on whose wings great | |
minds are carried ony to extreme, — to be sub- | |
limely great, or to be nothing.— Southern. | |
Moderation eannot have the credit of com- | |
bating and subduing ambition, — they are never | |
found together. Moderation is the Janguor | |
and indolence of the soul, as ambition is its | |
activity and ardor.—Rochefoucauld. | |
The cheat ambition, eager to espouse do- | |
minion, courts it with a lying show, and shines | |
in borrowed pomp to serve a turn.—Jeffrey. | |
--- Chunk 1, Page 37 --- | |
AMBITION. | |
19 | |
AMBITION. | |
rr | |
Dreams, indeed, are ambition; for the very. | |
snbstance ‘of theaunbitious is merely the shadow | |
of a dream. And I hold ambition of so airy | |
and light a quality, that it is but a shadow’s | |
shadow.— Shakespeare. | |
‘Ambition is not a vice of little people.— | |
«Montaigne. | |
Ambition is a gilded misery, a seeret poison, | |
a hidden plague, the engineer of deevit, the | |
mother of hypocrisy, the parent of envy, the | |
original of vices, the moth of holiness, the | |
blinder. of hearts, turning incdicines into mal- | |
adies, and remedies into diseases. High seats | |
are never but mneasy, and_crowns are always | |
stnffed with thorns.—Aev. T. Brooks. | |
. Take away ambition and vanity, and where | |
will be yonr heroes-and patriots ?—Seueea. | |
T begin where most people: end, with a full | |
convietion of the emptiness of all sorts of ainbi- | |
tion, and the unsatistactory nature of all human | |
pleasnres.—Pope. | |
Ambition is to the mind what the cap is to | |
the falcon; it-blinds us first, and then compels’, | |
ns to tower, by reason of our blindness. But | |
alas! when we, are at the summit of a vain | |
cambition, we are also at the depth of misery.— | |
Colton. | |
It is the constant fanlt and inseparable ill | |
quality of ambition never to look behind it.— | |
Seneca. | |
The shadow, wherescever it passes, leaves | |
no track behind it; and of the greatest per- | |
sonages of the world, when they are once dead, | |
then there remains no more than if they had’ | |
never lived. How many preceding emperors | |
of the Assyrian monarchy were lords of the | |
world as well as Alexander! and now we re- | |
main not only ignorant of their monuments, | |
hut know not so mnch as their names. And | |
of the same great Alexander, what: have we at | |
this day except the vain ‘noise of his fame /— | |
Jeremy Taylor. | |
‘Neither love nor ambition, as it has often | |
been shown, can brook a division of its empire | |
in the heart.—Boree, | |
Ambition is a rebel both to the sonl and | |
reason, and enforces all laws, all conscience ; | |
treads upon religion, and offers violenee to na- | |
ture’s selfi— Ben Jonson. | |
Alas! ambition makes my little less. — Young. | |
a | |
Ambition is bnt “avarice on. stilts, and | |
masked. God sometiines sends a,famine, some- | |
times a pestilence, and sometimes a hero, for the | |
chastisement of mankind ; none of them Surely | |
for our adiniration.—Landor. | |
The ambitions deceive themselves when they | |
propose an end to their anbition ; for that end, | |
when attained, becomes a means.— | |
- Rochefoucautd. | |
There is a kind of grandenr and respect | |
which the meanest.and most insignificant part | |
of mankind endeayor to procure in thie little | |
cirele of their friends and aequaintance. ‘The | |
poorest mechanic, nay, the man who lives upon | |
common alms, gets him his set of admirers, and | |
delights in that superiority which he enjoys over | |
those who are in some respects beneath him, | |
This ambition, which is natural to the soul of | |
man, might, methinks, receive a very happy | |
tnrn; and, if it were rightly directed, contribnte | |
as innch to a person’s advantage, as i¢ generally | |
does to his uncasiness and disquict— Addison. | |
Ambition is like choler, which is a humor | |
that maketh men active, earnest, fll of alacrity, | |
and stirring, if it be not stopped; but if ie he | |
stopped, and cannot have its way, it beeometh | |
‘fiery, and thereby malign and venomons,— | |
‘Bacon. | |
Ambition, like love, can-ahide no lingering ; | |
and ever urgeth on his own successes, hating | |
nothing but what may stop them.— | |
Sir P. Sidney. | |
We must distinguish hetween felicity and | |
prosperity ; for prosperity leads often to am- | |
We should be careful to deserve a good rep-| bition, and ambition to disappointment; the | |
ntation by doing well; and when that care. is | course is then over, the wheel turns round but | |
once taken, not to be over anxions abont the | once, while the reaction of goodness and happi- | |
success. —Jtochester. | |
Ambition sufficiently plagues her proselytes, | |
by keeping themselves always in show, like the | bition till five-and-twenty. | |
statue of a pubtie place.—Afontaigne. | |
Blood only serves to wash Ambition’s | |
hands.— Byron. | |
ness is perpetual.—Zandor. | |
One may easily enongh guard: against. am- | |
It is not-ambition’s | |
day. —Shenstone. | |
We shonld reflect that waatever tempts the | |
ride and vanity of ambitious persons is not so | |
big as the smallest star which we ‘sec scattered | |
Ambition is torment enongh for an enemy ; jin disorder and unregarded on the pavement of | |
for it affords ag much diseontentment in enjoy- | heaven.—/eremy Taylor. | |
ing as in want, making men Jike poisoned rats, | |
which, when they have tasted of their hane, | |
cannot rest till they drink,-and_then can much | |
less rest till they die.—Biskep ifall. | |
The tallest trees are most in the power of | |
the winds, and ambitions men of the blasts of | |
fortune.— William Penn. | |
--- Chunk 1, Page 38 --- | |
AMERICA. | |
20 | |
AMUSEMENTS. | |
A noble man compares and estimates him- | |
self by an idea which is higher than himself, | |
and a mean man by one whieh is lower than | |
himself. The one produees aspiration; the | |
othér, ambition. Ambition is the way in which | |
a vulgar inan aspires.— Beecher. | |
Ambition! deadly tyrant! inexorable mas- | |
ter! what alarms, what anxious hours, what | |
agonies of heart, are the sure portion of thy | |
gaudy slaves ?—Jfallet | |
—~ | |
Don Quixote thought he could have made | |
beautiful bird-eages and tooth-picks if his brain | |
had not been so full of ideas ot chivalry. Most | |
people would suceced in small things if they | |
were not troubled with great ambitions.— | |
Longfellow. | |
Ambition is like love, impatient both of | |
delays and rivals.—Denrham. | |
Ambition is, of all other, the most contrary | |
humor to solitude ; and glory and repose'are so | |
inconsistent that they eannot possibly inhabit | |
one and the same place; and for so much as | |
I understand, those have only their arms and | |
legs disengaged from the crowd, their mind and | |
hitention remain engaged behind more -than | |
ever.— Montaigne. | |
Nothing can be more destructive to ambi- | |
tion, and the passion for conquest, than the | |
true system of astronomy. What a poor thing | |
is even the whole globe in comparison of the ia- | |
finite extent of nature !—F ontenelle. | |
Tf love and ambition should be in equal bal- | |
ance,.and come to jostle with equal foree, I | |
make no donbt but that the last would win the | |
prize.—Afontaigne. | |
Most natures are insolvent; cannot satisfy | |
their own wants, have an ambition out of all | |
proportion to their practical force, and so do | |
lean and beg day-and night continually.— | |
. Emerson, | |
It is not for man to rest in absolute con- | |
tentment. He is born to hopes and aspira- | |
tions, as the sparks fly upwards, imless he has | |
brutified his natnre, and quenched the spirit | |
of immortality, whieh is his portion —Southey. | |
Where ambition can be so happy as to cover | |
its enterprises even to the person himself, under | |
the appearance of principle, it is the most in- | |
eurable and inflexible of all human passions.— | |
Hume. | |
AMERICA. | |
The home of the homeless all over the earth. | |
Street. | |
America, — half-brother of the world !— | |
Bailey. | |
America is afortunate country. She grows by | |
the follies of onr European nations.—Napoleon. | |
AMIABILITY. | |
The amiable is a duty most certainly, but | |
mnst not be exercised at the expense of ‘any | |
of the virtues. He who seeks to do the amiable | |
always, can only be successful at the frequent | |
expense of his manhood.—Simms. | |
How easy it is to be amiable in the midst of | |
happiness and success !—Afadame Swetchine. | |
Amiable people, while they are more liable | |
to imposition in casual contaet with the world, | |
yet radiate so mueh of mental sunshine that | |
they are reflected in a}l appreciative hearts.— | |
Madame Deluzy. | |
That constant desire of pleasing, which is | |
the peculiar qnality of some, may be called the | |
happiest of all desires in this, that it scarcely | |
ever fails of attaining its ends, when not dis- | |
graeed by affectation. —ieding. | |
AMNESTY. | |
Amnesty, that noble word, the gennine dic- | |
tate of wisdom.—schines. | |
AMUSEMENTS. | |
They arc to religion like breezes of air to | |
the flame, — gentle ones will fan it, but strong | |
ones will put it ont.—Rev. Dr. Thomas. | |
If those who are the enemies of innocent | |
amusements had the direction of the world, | |
they would take away the spring, and yonth, | |
the former from the year, the latter from human | |
life. Balzac. | |
Thé mind ought sometimes to be amused, | |
that it may the better retnrp to thought, and to | |
itselfi— Phacdrus. | |
It is execedingly deleterions to withdraw | |
the sanetion of religion from amusement. If | |
we feel that it is all injurious we should strip | |
the earth of its flowers and blot out its pleasant | |
sunshine.— Chapin. | |
There is no sueh sport as sport by sport | |
o’erthrown.— Shakespeare. | |
Let the world have their May-games, wakes, | |
whetsunales, their dancings and eoneerts; their | |
puppet-shows, hobby, horses, tabors, bagpipes, | |
halls, barley-breaks,.and whatever sports and | |
recreations please them best, provided they be | |
{followed with diseretion.— Burton. | |
Amnsement allures and deceives us, and | |
leads us down impereeptibly in thoughtlessness | |
to the grave.—Pascal. | |
The habit of dissipating every serious | |
thought by a sucecssion of agreeable sensa- | |
tions is as fatal to happiness as to virtue; for | |
when amusement is uniformly substituted for | |
ohjects of moral and mental interest, we lose | |
all that elevates our enjoyments above the seale | |
of childish pleasures.—Anna Jlaria Porter. | |
--- Chunk 1, Page 39 --- | |
ANALOGY. | |
21 | |
ANCESTRY. | |
To find recreation in amusements .is not | |
happiness ; for-this joy'springs trom alitn and | |
extrinsic sources, sand is therefore dependent | |
upon und subject te interruption by a thousand | |
necidents, which way minister inevitable alflic- | |
tion. —Pascedl. | |
ANALOGY. | |
The instincts of the ant,are very unimpor- | |
tant, Considered as the-ane’s;. but the moment | |
arny of relation is scen_to extend from it to | |
man, and the little drndge is seen to be a moni- | |
tor, a-liede body with a mighty heart, then -all | |
its habits, even.that said tu be recently observed, | |
that it never sleeps, become sublime.—Lmerson. | |
ANCESTRY. | |
Some decent, regulated pre-eminence, some | |
preference (not exelusive appropriation) given | |
to birth, is neither unnatural nor unjust nor | |
impolitic.—Burke. | |
Ve who boasts of his lineage boasts of that | |
which does not properly belong to him.—Sencea. | |
It is, indeed; a blessing, when the virtues of | |
noble races are hereditary ;. and do derive.them- | |
selves from the imitation of virthous ancestors. | |
Nabb. | |
Some men by ancestry are only the shadow | |
of-a inighty name.—Zarcan. | |
It is:only shallow-minded pretenders who | |
either make distinguished origin a matter of | |
personal merit, or obscure origin a matter of | |
personal reproach. Taunt and scoffing at the | |
humble condition of carly lite affect nobody in | |
America but those who are foolish enough | |
to indulge in them, and they are generally sufti- | |
ciently punished by the ‘pnblished rebuke. A | |
man who is not ashamed of himself need not be | |
ly condition.—Duniel Webster. | |
ashamed of his | |
Ttis of no consequence of what parents any | |
man is born, so that he be a man of merit.— | |
fforace. | |
The nobility of the Spencers has been illus- | |
trated and enriched by ‘the trophies of Marl- | |
borongh; but I exhort them, to consider the | |
“ Faerie Queene,” as the most priceless jewel of | |
their coronet.— Gibbon. | |
Pride, in boasting of family antiquity, makes | |
duration stand for merit.— Zimmermann. | |
Tie that boasts of his ancestors confesses | |
‘that he has no virtue of his own. No person | |
ever lived for onr honor; nor onght that to be | |
reputed ours, which was long before we had a | |
being ; for what advantage can it be to a, blind | |
man to know that his parents had good eyes? | |
Does he see one whit-the better !—Charron. | |
Philosophy docs not regard pedigree ; she | |
did not receive Plato as a noble, but she made | |
him so.—Seneca, | |
There may be, and there often is, indeed, a | |
regard for ancestry which nourishes only,a’ weak | |
pride; €8 there is ‘ilo a care for poxterity, | |
which only disgnises.an habitual avarice, or hides | |
the workings of a low and grovelling vanity. | |
Bat there is also a moral and philosophical re- | |
spect Jor our wicestors, which elevates the char- | |
acter aud improves the heart.— Daniel Webster, | |
If it is fortunate to be of noble ancestry, it | |
is not less so-to be such ens that people do not | |
care to be informed whether you are noble or | |
ignoble.—Bruyére. | |
We sometimes sce 2 change of expression | |
in our companion, and say, his father or his | |
mother comes to the windows of his eyes, and | |
sontctimes a remote relative. In different hours, | |
‘imin represents cach of several of his ances- | |
tors, as if there were seven or cizht of us rolled | |
up in each man’s skin,— seven or cight an- | |
cestors at least, — and they constitute the vari- | |
ety of notes for that new piece of musicewhich | |
his life is —Zmerson. | |
It is a shame for 2 man to desire honor | |
because of his noble progenitors, aud not to | |
deserve it Ly his own virtue—=St. Chrysostom. | |
Of all vanities of fopperies, the vanity of | |
high birth is the greatest. True nobility is de- | |
rived from virtue, not from birth. ‘Titles, in- | |
decd, may be purchased, but virtue is the only | |
coin that makes the bargain valid —Burton. | |
The pride of ancestry is‘a superstructure of | |
the most imposing height, but resting on the | |
most flimsy fonndation. It is ridienlons enongh | |
to observe the Aanteuwr with which the old nobil- | |
ity look down on the new. ‘The reason of this | |
puzzled me alittle, until I began to reflect that | |
inost titles are respeetable only because they | |
are old; if new, they would be despised, becanse | |
all those who now admire the grandeur of the | |
stream would see nothing but the impurity of | |
the sonrce.— Colton. . | |
_ What ean they see in the longest kingly | |
line in Europe, save that it runs back to a suc- | |
cessful soldier 7— Walter Scatt- | |
Title‘and ancestry render a good man more | |
illustrions, but an ill one more contemptible. | |
Vice is infamous, thongh in:a prince, and vir- | |
tue honorable, thongh in.» peasant.—Addéson. | |
Being well satisfied that, for a man who | |
thinks himself to be somebody, there.is nothing | |
more disgraceful than to hold -himself wp as | |
honored, not on his own account, but for the | |
sake of his forefuthers. Yet hereditary honors | |
are a noble and splendid treasure to desecnd- | |
‘ants. —Pluto. | |
Pride of origin, whether high or low, springs: | |
from the sume principle in human miture ; one | |
is but the positive, the other the negative, pole | |
ofia single weakuess.— Lowell, | |
--- Chunk 1, Page 40 --- | |
ANCESTRY. | |
22 | |
ANCESTRY. | |
Take the title of nobility which thou hast | |
received by birth, but endeavor to add to it | |
another, that both may form a true nobility. | |
There is between the nobility of thy father and | |
thine own the same difference which exists be- | |
tween the nourishment of the evening and of | |
the morrow. The food of yesterday will not | |
serve thce for to-day, and will not give thee | |
strength for the next.—Jamakchari. | |
Tam no herald to inquire of men’s pedigrees ; | |
it sufficeth me if I know their virtnes.— | |
Sir P. Sidney. | |
It was the saying of a great man, that if we | |
eould trace our descents, we shonld find ail | |
slaves to come frum princes, and all princes | |
from slaves ; and fortune has turned all things | |
topsy-turvy in a long series of revolutions : | |
beside, for a man to spend his life in pursuit | |
of a title, that serves only when he dies to fur- | |
nish out an epitaph, is below .4 wise man’s | |
business.— Seneca. | |
When real nobleness: accompanies that im- | |
aginary one of birth, the imaginary seems to | |
mix with real, and beeomes real too.— | |
Lord Greville. | |
Though you be sprung in direct line from | |
Herenles, if you show a low-born meanness, | |
that long succession of ancestors whom you | |
disgrace are so many witnesses against you ; | |
and this grand display of their tarnished glory | |
but serves to make your ignominy more evi- | |
dent.— Boileau. | |
I-am one who finds within me a nobility | |
that spurns the idle pratings of the great, and | |
their mean boasts of what their fathers were, | |
while they themselves are fools effeminate.— | |
Percival. | |
The charaeter of the reputed ancestors of | |
some men has made it possible for their de- | |
seendants to be vicious in the extreme, without | |
being degenerate ; and there are some heredi- | |
tary strokes of character by which a family may | |
be as clearly distinguished as by the blackest | |
features of the human face.—/unius. | |
It is better to be the builder of our own | |
name than to be indebted by descent for the | |
proudest gifts known to the books of heraldry. | |
Hosea Ballou. | |
Let him speak of his own deeds, and not of | |
those of his forefathers. High birth is mere | |
aecident, and not virtue ; for if reason had con- | |
trolled birth, and given empire only to the | |
worthy, perhaps Arbaces would have been | |
Xerxes, and Xerxes Arbaces,—.letastasio. | |
The generality of princes, if they were | |
stripped of their purple and cast naked on the | |
world, would immediately sink to the lowest | |
rank of society, withont a hope of emerging | |
from their obscurity. —- Gibbon. | |
No man is nobler born than another, unless | |
he is born with better abilities and a more ami- | |
able disposition. They who make such a | |
parade with their family pictures and pedigrees, | |
are, properly speaking, rather to be called not- | |
ed or notorious than noble persons. I thought | |
it right to say this much, in order to repel the | |
insolence of men who depend entirely upon | |
chanee and accidental eireumstances for distine- | |
tion, and not at‘all on public services and per- | |
sonal merit.— Seneca. | |
A soldier, such as I am, may very well pre- | |
tend to govern the state when he has known to | |
defend it. The first who was king was a fortn- | |
nate soldier. Whoever serves his country well | |
has no need of ancestors.— Foltaire. | |
It has long scemed to me that it would be | |
more honorable to our‘aneestors to praise them | |
in words less, but in deeds to imitate them | |
more.——Horace Afann. | |
By blood a king, in heart a clown.— | |
Tennyson. | |
Those who have nothing else to recommend | |
them to the respect of others but only their | |
blood, ery it up at a great rate, and have their | |
mouths perpetually full of it. y | |
vapor, and you are sure to hear of their families | |
and relations every third word.— Charron. | |
Those who depend on the merits of their an- | |
eestors may be said to search in the roots of the | |
tree for those frnits which the branches ought to | |
produce.—Barrow. | |
In the founders of great families, titles or | |
attributes of honor are generally correspondent | |
with the virtues of the person to whom they are | |
applied ; but in their descendants they are too | |
often the marks rather of grandeur than of | |
merit. The stamp and denomination still con- | |
tinne, but the intrinsic value is frequently lost. | |
Addison. | |
It is with antiquity as with ancestry, na- | |
tions are proud of the one, and individuals of | |
the other; but if they are nothing in them- | |
selves, that which is their pride ought to be | |
their humiliation.— Colton. | |
The man who has nothing to boast of but | |
| his iHustrious aneestry is like a potato, — the | |
only good belonging to him is underground.— | |
- Sir Thomas Overbury. | |
Nobility of birth is like a cipher; it has no | |
power in itself, like wealth or talent; but it | |
tells with all the power of a cipher when added | |
to either of the other two.—J. I. Boyes. | |
We are very fond of some families! beeduse | |
they ean be traced beyond the Conquest, whereas | |
indeed the farther hack, the worse,'as being the | |
nearer allied to’a race of robbers and thieves.— | |
: De Foe. | |
They swell and, | |
--- Chunk 1, Page 41 --- | |
ANGELS. 2 | |
ANGER. | |
ANGELS. | |
He that would be: angry and sin not must | |
Millions of spiritual creatures walk the earth | not be angry with anything but sin.—Sceker. | |
unseen, both when we sleep and when we wake. | |
: Milton. | |
The gnardian angel of life sometimes flies so | |
high that man cannot see it; but he always is | |
looking down upon us, sand will soon hover | |
nearer to us.—WRechler. | |
They boast ethereal vigor, and are formed | |
from seeds of heavenly birth_— Virgil. | |
Compare a Solomon, an Aristotle, or an | |
Archimedes, to a child that newly begins to | |
speak, and they do not more transcend such a | |
one than the -angelical understanding exceeds | |
theirs, even in its most sublime improvements | |
and acquisitions.—South. | |
Angels are bright still, though the brightest | |
fell. —Shakespeare. | |
The angels may have wider spheres of ac- | |
tion, may have nobler forms of duty, but | |
right with them and with us is one and the | |
same thing. —Chapin. | |
We_ are never like angels till our passion | |
dies.— Thomas Decker. . | |
Angels and ministers of grace defend ns !— | |
Shakespeare. | |
ANGER. | |
Men often make up in wrath what they want | |
in reason.— FV. FR. Alger. | |
Anger is an affected madness, compounded | |
of pride and folly, and an intention to do com. | |
monly more mischief than it can bring to pass; | |
and, without doubt, of all passions which actu- | |
ally disturb the mind of man, itis most in our | |
power to extinguish, at least, to suppress and | |
correct, our-anger.~— Clarendon. | |
Anger is like a full-hot horse, who being al- | |
lowed his way, self-mettle tires him.— | |
Shakespeare. | |
Anger is like the waves of a troubled sea; | |
when it is corrected with a. soft reply, as with a | |
little strand, it retires, arid leaves nothing be- | |
hind but froth’and shells, — no permanent mis- | |
chicf—Jeremy Taylor. | |
s | |
Anger causes us often to condemn in one | |
what we approve of in anether.— | |
Pasquier Quesnel. | |
Anger is the most impotent passion that ac- | |
companies the mind of man. It effects nothing | |
it-goes about; and hurts the man who is pos- | |
sessed by it more than any other against whom | |
it is directed.— Clarendon. | |
He submits himself to be seen through a | |
microscope, who suffers himself to be caught in | |
a fit of passion.—Luvater. | |
To be angry about trifles is mean and child- | |
ish ; to rage and be furious is brutish; and to | |
maintain perpetual wrath is akin to the practice | |
and temper of devils —Dr. Watts. | |
To be in anger is inipiety, but who is man | |
that is not angry ?—Shakespeare. | |
Are yowangry ? Look’at the child who has | |
erred, he suspects no trouble, he dream’ of no | |
harin ; you will borrow something of that inno- | |
cence, you will feel appeased.— Chateaubriand. | |
To rule one’s anger is well; to prevent it is | |
better.—Ldwards. | |
When anger rushes unrestrained to action, | |
like a hot steed, it stumbles on its way. The | |
man of thought strikes decpest and strikes | |
safely.— Savage. | |
To be angry is to revenge the fault of others | |
upon ourselves. —Pope. | |
He does anger too mnch honor, who calls it | |
madness, which, being « distemper of the brain, | |
and a total absence of all reason, is innocent of | |
‘all the ill etfects it may produce.—Clarendon. | |
Let not the sun go down upon your wrath.— | |
Bible. | |
The elephant is never won by anger; nor | |
must that man who would reclaim a lion take | |
him by the teeth —Dryden. | |
An angry man who suppresses his passions | |
thinks worse than he speaks; and ‘an angry | |
man that_ will chide speaks worse than lié | |
thinks.— Bacon. | |
To abandon yourself to rage is often to bring | |
upon yourself the fault of another.—Agapet. | |
Had I'a careful and pleasant eompanion | |
that should show me my angry ‘face in a glass, | |
T should noe at all take it ill; to behold man’s | |
self so unnaturally disguised and dishonored | |
will conduce not a little to the impeachment of | |
canger.— Plutarch. | |
He that will be angry for anything will be | |
angry for nothing. —Sadlust. | |
If anger proceeds from a‘ great canse, it | |
tnrns to fury; if from a small cause, it is | |
peevishness ; and so is always either terrible or | |
ridiculous.— Jeremy Taylor. | |
Anger is blood, poured and perplexed into | |
froth ; but malice is the wisdom of our wrath.— | |
Sir W. Davenant. | |
An angry man opens his mouth and shuts | |
up his eyes.— Cato. | |
--- Chunk 1, Page 42 --- | |
ANGER. 2 | |
4 ANGER. | |
Anger is a noble infirmity, the generous | |
failing of the just, the one degree that riseth | |
above zeal, asserting the prerogative of virtne.— | |
Tupper. | |
Never anger made good guard for itself— | |
Shakespeare. | |
The intoxication of anger, like that of the | |
grape, shows us to others, but hides us from | |
onrsclyes, and we injure our own cause, in the | |
opinion of the world, when we too passionately | |
and eagerly defend it.—Colton. | |
Lamentation is the only musician -that al- | |
ways, like a sereech-owl, alights and sits on the | |
roof of an angry man.—Plutareh. | |
Anger is a transient hatred, or at least very | |
like it —South. | |
Anger manages everything badly. —Stadius. | |
Anger and the thirst.of revenge are a kind | |
of fever; fighting and lawsuits, bleeding, — at | |
least, an evaenation. The latter occasions a | |
dissipation of money ; the former, of those fiery | |
spirits which cause a preternatural fermen- | |
tation.—Shenstone. | |
When a man is wrong and won’t admit it, | |
he always gets angry.— Haliburton. | |
Angry and choleric men are as ungrateful | |
and unsociable as thunder and lightning, being | |
in themselves all storm and tempest; but quiet | |
and easy natures are like fair weather, welcome | |
to all.—- Clarendon. | |
When angry, count ten before you speak ; | |
if very angry, a hnndred.—Jefferson. | |
The sun should not set upon our anger, | |
neither should he rise upon onr confidence. | |
We'shonld forgive freely, but forget rarely. TI | |
will not ‘be revenged, and this I owe to my ene- | |
my; but I will remember, and this T owe to my- | |
self.— Colton. | |
Must I give way and room to your rash | |
choler? Shall I be frighted when a madman | |
stares —Shukespeare. | |
Those passionate persons who carry their | |
heart in their mouth are rather to be pitied than | |
feared ; their threatenings serving no other pur- | |
pose than to forearm him that is threatened.— | |
Fuller. | |
He-that is slow to anger is better than the | |
mighty ; and he that ruleth his spirit, than he | |
that taketh a city.—Bible. | |
As a conquered rebellion strengthens a gov- | |
ernment, or as Health is more perfectly estab- | |
lished by recovery from some diseases ; so anger, | |
when removed, often gives new life to affec- | |
tion —Fielding. | |
Be ye angry, and sin not; therefore all | |
anger is notsinfnl ; I suppose because’ some de- | |
grec of it, and upon some occasions, is inevita- | |
ble. It becomes sinful, or contradicts, however, | |
the rule of Seripture, when it is conceived upor | |
slight and inadequate provocation, and when it | |
continues long.—Paley. | |
Violence in the voice is often only the death- | |
rattle of reason in the throat—J. £. Boyes. | |
Never forget what a man has said to you | |
when he was angry. If he has charged you | |
with anything, you had better look it up. An- | |
ger is a bow that will shoot sometimes where | |
another feeling will not.—Beecker. | |
An angry man is again angry with himself | |
when he returus to reason.— Publius Syrus. | |
If anger is not restrained, it is frequently | |
more hurtful to us than the injury that pro- | |
vokes it.— Seneca. | |
There is no passion that so much transports | |
men from their right judgments as anger. No | |
one would demur upou punishing a judge with | |
death who should condemn a criminal upon the | |
account of his own choler; why then should | |
fathers and pedants he any more allowed to | |
whip and chastise children in their anger? | |
It is then no longer correction but revenge. | |
Chastisement is instead of physic to children ; | |
and shonkl we suffer a physician who shonld | |
be animated ‘against and enraged at his pa- | |
tient ?—Jfontaigne. | |
Anger has some elaim to indulgence, and | |
railing is usually a relief to the mind.—Juntus. | |
Consider how much more you often suffer | |
from your anger and grief than from those | |
very things for which you are angry ‘and | |
grieved. —Afurcus Antoninus. | |
_ He best keeps from anger who remembers | |
that God is always looking upon him.—Plato. | |
When I myself had twice or thrice made a | |
resohite resistance nnto anger, the like befell me | |
that did the Thebans; who, having onee foiled | |
the Dacedemonians (who before that. time-had | |
held themselves invincible), never after lost so | |
much as one battle which they fought against | |
them.— Plutarch. * | |
Anger begins with folly, andvends with re- | |
pentance.— Pythagoras. | |
The round of a passionate man’s life is in | |
contracting debts in his passion, whieh his | |
virtue obliges him to pay. He spends his time | |
in outrage and. acknowledgment, injury and | |
yeparation.—.Johnson. | |
Anger is uneasiness or discomposure of the | |
mind upon the reecipt of any injury, with a | |
present purpose of revenge.—Locke. | |
--- Chunk 1, Page 43 --- | |
- ANGLING. | |
25 | |
ANTICIPATION | |
A lamh, that carries anger as the flint bears | |
fire;. who, mach enforced, shows'a.hasty spark, | |
‘and straight is cold -again.—Shukespeare. | |
Ife injures the absent who contends with an | |
angry mun.—Publius Syrus. | |
Think when you are-enragedat any onc, | |
what wonld probably become yonr sentiments | |
should he die during the dispute.—Shenstone. | |
Wise anger. is like fire from the flint; there | |
is a great ado to bring it ont;-and when it does | |
come, it is out again Immediately.— | |
Matthew ITenry. | |
Beware of him that is slow to anger; anger, | |
when it is long in coming, is the stronger when | |
it comes,:and the longer kept. Abused pa- | |
tience turns to fury.—Quarles. : | |
ANGLING, | |
We may say of angling as Dr. Boteler said | |
of strawberries, “ Donbtless God conld have | |
made ‘a.better berry, but doubtless God never | |
did”; and.so, if I might be judge, God never | |
did make « more calm, quict, innocent recrea- | |
tion than angling. —Zzaak Walton. | |
The pleasantest angling is to see the fish | |
ent with her golden oars the silver stream, and | |
greedily devour the treacherous bait, | |
Shakespeare. | |
Thongh no participator in the joys of more | |
yehement sport, I have a pleasure that I cannot | |
reconcile to my ‘abstract notions of the -tender- | |
ness duc to dumb creatures, in the tranquil ernei- | |
tty of angling. I canonly. palliate the wanton | |
destructiveness of my amusement by trying to | |
assure myself that my pleasure docs not spring | |
from the success of the treachery I practise to- | |
ward-a poor little fish, but’ rather from that in- | |
nocent revelry in the Inxuriance of summer life | |
which only anglers enjoy to the utmost.— | |
Bulwer Lytton. | |
Angling is somewhat like poetry ; men are to | |
be born so.—/zaak Walton. | |
ANTICIPATION, | |
~ The-events we most: desire do-not: happen ; | |
or, if they ilo, it-is neither ’in_the -time nor in | |
the cireutustances when they would have given | |
us extreme pleasnre,—Bruyére, | |
IIe who foresces calamities suffers them | |
twice over.— Porteus. | |
All earthly delights ‘are sweeter in expecta- | |
tion than enjoyment; but-all spiritual pleasures | |
more in fruition than expectation.— Feltham. | |
Suffering itself docs less afflict the senses | |
than the apprehension of suffeting.—Quéntilian. | |
All things that"are, are with more spirit | |
chased than enjoyed.— Shakespeure. | |
We can but ill: endure, amoug so many sad | |
realities, to rob anticipation of its pleasaut | |
visions.—fenry Giles; ~ | |
Men spend their fives in canti¢ipations, in | |
determining to be vastly happy at. some period | |
or other, when they hive time. But the present | |
time has one advantage over every other, it is | |
our own.— Colton. | |
Oft -expectation fails, and most oft there | |
Where most it promises.— Shakespeare. | |
With every one, the expectation of a misfor- | |
tune constitutes +a dréadtul. punishment, “Sul | |
fering then assnimes the-prepertions of the w- | |
known, which is the soul’s intinite—Badzae. | |
Things won are doney,joy’s soul lies in the | |
doing.— Shakespeare. | |
In all worldly things that a man pnrsiies | |
with the. greatest eagerness and intention of | |
mind imaginable, he tinds not half the pleasure | |
in the actual possession of them;as he proposed | |
to himself in the expectation. — South. | |
Nothing is so great-an adv | |
who make it their business to plc | |
tation.— Cicere. | |
rsary to those | |
S@ as expec- | |
The pilot who is always dreading a rock or | |
a tempest innst not.complain if he remain a- | |
poor fisherman. We-imust at times trust some= | |
thing to fortune, for fortume has often some | |
share in what happens.—:fetustasio. | |
I know that we often -tremble at-an empty | |
terror ; yet the false fancy brings a real misery.— | |
Schiller. | |
There wonld be few-enterprises of great | |
labor or hazard undertaken, if we had not the | |
power of magnifying the advantages which we | |
persuade ourselves to expect from them.— | |
Johnson, | |
Thon tremblest hefore anticipated ills, and | |
still bemoanest what thou never losest.— Goethe. | |
To despond is to he ungrateful beforehand. | |
Be not looking for evil. Often thon drainest | |
the gall of fear while evil is passing by thy | |
dwelling. — Tepper. | |
We expéct everything, and are prepared for | |
nothing. —Madame Swetchine. | |
Whatever advantage.we snatch heyond acer- | |
tain portion-allotted. us hy-natnye, is like money | |
spient- before’ it is due, which, at the time of | |
regular payment, will be missed and regretted.— | |
Johnson. | |
.We part more ‘easily with what we possess, | |
than “with our expectations of what we wish | |
for; because expeetation always: goes beyond | |
enjoyment.—Llenry Lome. . | |
--- Chunk 1, Page 44 --- | |
ANTIQUITY. | |
26 | |
ANTIQUITY. | |
Seer errr rrr | |
A man’s desires always disappoint him; | |
for though he mects-with something that gives | |
him satisfaction, yet it never thoroughly answers | |
his expectation. — Rochefoucauld. | |
There is nothing so wretched or foolish as to | |
anticipate misfurtunes. What madness is it in | |
your expecting evil before it arrives ?—Seneca. | |
What need a man forestall his date of grief, | |
and run to meet what he would most ayoid ? — | |
Diilton. | |
It is expeetation makes a blessing dear ;, | |
heaven were not heaven if we knew what it | |
were.—John Suckling. | |
It is worse to apprehend than to suffer.— | |
Bruyére. | |
Things temporal are sweeter in the expecta- | |
tidn, things eternal are sweeter in the fruition ; | |
the first shames thy hope, the second crowns it; | |
it is'a vain journey, whose end affords less pleas- | |
ure.than the way.— Quarles. | |
ANTIQUITY. | |
Consider, for example, and you -will find | |
that-almost all the transactions in the time of | |
Vespasian differed little from those of the pres- | |
ent day. You there find marrying and giving | |
in marriage, educating children, sickness, death, | |
war, joyous holidays, traffic, agriculture, flat- | |
terers, insolent pride, suspicions, laying of | |
plots, longing for the death of others, news- | |
mongers, lovers, misers, men canvassing for | |
the consulship and for the -kingdom; yet all | |
these passed away, and are nowhere.— | |
Marcus Antoninus. | |
Those we call the ancients were really new | |
in everything.—Pascal, | |
All those things that are now held to be of | |
the greatest antiquity were at one time new; | |
what we to-day hold up by example will rank | |
hereafter as preeedent.— Tacitus. | |
Antiquity is a species of aristocraey with | |
which it is not easy to be on visiting terms.— | |
Madame Swetchine. | |
When ancient opinions and rules of life are | |
takenvaway, the loss cannot possibly be esti- | |
mated. From that moment we have no com- | |
pass.to govern us, nor can we know distinctly | |
to what port to steer.—Burke. | |
Time’s gradnal touch has mouldered into | |
beauty many a tower, which when it frowned | |
with all its battlements was only terrible.— | |
Alason. | |
I do by no means advise yon to throw away | |
your time in ransacking, like a dull-antiquarian, | |
the minute and unimportant parts of remote | |
and fabulons times. Let blockheads read what | |
blockheads wrote.—Chestersiedd. | |
It is with antiquity as with ancestry, nations | |
are proud of the one, and individuals of the other , | |
Wbut if they are nothing within themselves, that | |
which is their pride ought to be their humilia- | |
tion.— Cotton. | |
It is one proof of a good education, and of | |
true refinemeut of fecling, to respect-antiqnity.— | |
ALrs. Sigourney. | |
Antiquity! thon wondrous charm, what art | |
thou? that, being nothing, art everything! | |
When thou wert, thou wert not antiquity, — | |
then thou wert nothing, but hadst a remoter | |
antiquity, as thou culledst it, to look back to | |
with blind veneration; thon thyself being to | |
thyself flat, jejune, modern! What mystery | |
lurks in this retroversion ? or what half Januses | |
are we, -that cannot look forward with the | |
same idolatry with which we forever revert! | |
The mighty future is as nothing, being every- | |
thing! ‘The past is everything, being nothing ! | |
‘ Lamb. | |
The pyramids, doting with age, have forgot- | |
ten the names of their founders.—Fuller. | |
A thorough-paced antiquary not only re- | |
members what all other people have thonght | |
proper to forget, but he also forgets what all | |
other people think is proper to remember.— | |
Colton. | |
Antiquity! I like its ruins better than its | |
reconstrnetions.—.Joubert. | |
Those were good old times, it may be | |
thought, when baron and peasant feasted to- | |
gether. But the one could not read, and made | |
his mark with a sword-pommel, and the other | |
was held as dear as a favorite dog. Pure and | |
simple times were those of owr grandfathers, | |
it may be. Possibly not so pure as we may | |
think, however, and with a simplicity ingrained | |
with some bigotry and a good deal of conceit.— | |
Chapin. | |
Time consecrates; and what is gray with | |
age becomes religion.—Sehiller. | |
What subsists to-day by violence continues | |
to-morrow by acquiescence, and is perpetuated | |
by tradition ; till at Jast the hoary abuse shakes | |
the gray hairs of antiquity at us, and gives | |
| itself out as the wisdom of ages.— | |
Edward Everett. | |
He who professes adherence to the na- | |
tional religion of England, on the ground that | |
it is the religion of his fathers,” forgets, as do | |
the hearers who applauded the sentiment, that, | |
on this principle, the worship of Thor and | |
Woden would claim precedence.— | |
Bishop Whately. | |
Those old ages are like the landscape that | |
shows best in purple distance, all verdant and | |
smooth, and bathed in mellow light.—Chapin. | |
--- Chunk 1, Page 45 --- | |
ANXIETY. 3 | |
7 APOTIEGMS. | |
ANXIETY, | |
Generally we obtain very surely and very | |
speedily what we are not too-anxivus to obtain. | |
Rousseau. | |
Anxiety is the poison of human life. It is | |
the parent of many sins, and of more miseries. | |
Tu a world where everything is doubtinl, where | |
yor may be disappuiuted, and be blessed in dis- | |
appoiitment, what means this restless stir | |
nid commotion of mind? Can your solicitude | |
‘alter the canse or unravel the intrigacy of hu- | |
man events ?—Blair. | |
Better to be despised for too anxious appre- | |
hensions than ruined by too confident a secn- | |
rity. —Burke. | |
APOLOGY. | |
No sensible person ever made an apology.— | |
Emerson. | |
A very desperate habit; one that is rarely | |
cured. Apology is only egotism wrong side | |
ont. Nine times out of ten, the first thing a | |
min’s companion knows of his short-comings | |
is from his apology.—JZolmes. | |
‘Apologies only account for the evil which | |
they cannot alter.—Disreeli. | |
APOTHEGMS. | |
A maxim is the exact and noble expression | |
of an important and indisputable truth. Sound | |
maxims are the germs ‘of good; strongly im- | |
printed in the memory, they nourish the will— | |
Joubert. | |
Apothegms-are the most infallible mirror to | |
represent a man truly what he is.—Plutare/. | |
We content ourselves to present to think- | |
ing minds the original seeds from whence | |
spring vast fields of new thought, that may be | |
further cultivated, beautified; and cnlarged.— | |
Chevalier Ramsay. | |
The genius, wit, and spirit of-a nation are | |
discovered by their proverbs.—Bacon. | |
An epigram often flashes light into regions | |
where Feason shines but dimly. Holmes’ dis- | |
posed of 4 bigot at once, when he compared his | |
mind to the pupil of the eye, —the more light | |
you let into it the more it contracts.— Whipple. | |
Apothegms are, in history, the same as the | |
pearls in the sand, or the gold iw the mine.— | |
Erasmus. | |
Few of the many wise apotheems which | |
have been uttered, from the timé of the seven | |
sages of Greece to that of poor Richard, have | |
prevented'a single foulish action.—Macaway. | |
A man of maxims only is like a Cyclops | |
with one eye, and that eye placed in the back | |
of his head.— Coleridge. | |
The excellence of aphorisms consists not so | |
much in the expression of some rare or abstrase | |
scutiment, as in the comprehension of some use- | |
fill truth in few words.—/ukzson. | |
Aphorisms are portable wisdom, the qnit- | |
tesscntial extracts of thought and fecline,— | |
IW. dt. Alger. | |
A few words worthy to he remembered suf- | |
fice'to give an iden-of a great mind. There-are | |
single thoughts that contain the essence of a | |
whole yoluine, single sentences that have the | |
leanties of a large work, a simplicity so tin- | |
ished and so pertect that it equals in merit and | |
in excellence a large and glorious composition. — | |
- Joubert. | |
The little and short sayings of nice and | |
excellent men are of great value, like the dust | |
of gold, or the least sparks of diamonds.— | |
Tillotson. | |
He may justly be numbered among the | |
benefactors of mankind who cuntracts the great | |
rules of lile into-short sentences, that may be | |
easily impressed on the memory, and taught by | |
frequent recollection to recur habitually to the | |
mnind.—/ohuson. | |
Thonghts take up no room. When they | |
are right, they afford a portable pleasure, which | |
one may travel with, without any trouble or | |
eneumbranee.—Jeremy Collier. | |
He that Jays down precepts for the govern- | |
ing of our lives, and moderating our passions, | |
obliges humanity not only in the present, but | |
incall future generations —Seneec. | |
Under the veil of these curions sentences are | |
hid those germs of morals which the masters | |
of philosophy have afterwards developed into so | |
many vojuines.—Pluturch. | |
The wise men of old have sent most of their | |
morality down to the stream of time in the light | |
skiff of apothegin or cpigram ; and the proverbs | |
of nations, which embody the comuion sense of | |
nations, haye the brisk concussion of the. most | |
sparkling wit.— Whipple. | |
Tam of opimon that there:are no proverbial | |
sayings whieh are not true, because they are all | |
sentences drawn from experience itself, who is | |
the mother of att seiences.— Cervantes. | |
Abstracts, abridgments, sumuinaries, ete, | |
have the same use with bnruing-glisses, — to | |
collect the ditfnsed rays of wit and learning in | |
authors, and make them poiut with warmth and | |
quickness bpon the reater’s imagination. — | |
Ethieal maxims are bandied about as a sort | |
of current coin of discotirse, and, heiiig never | |
melted down for use; those that are of base | |
metal are never detected.— Bishop Whately. © | |
--- Chunk 1, Page 46 --- | |
APPEARANCES. | |
28 | |
APPETITE. | |
APPEARANCES. | |
A man may smile, and smile; and be a vil- | |
lain. — Shakespeare. | |
There are no greater wretches in the world | |
than many of those whom people in general | |
take to be happy.—Seneca. | |
By a kind of fashionable discipline, the eye | |
is taught to brighten, the lip to smile, and the | |
whole countenance to emanate with the sem- | |
blance of friendly welcome, while the bosom is | |
unwarmed by a single spark of genuine kind- | |
ness and good-will.—'Washington frving. | |
With gloomy state, and agonizing pomp.— | |
Johnson. | |
There is no vice so siinple, but assumes some | |
mark of virtue on its outward parts.— | |
Shakespeare. | |
Surely you will not calenlate any essential | |
difference trom mere appearanees ; for the light | |
laughter that bubbles on the lip often mantles | |
over hrackish depths’of sadness, and the serious | |
look inay be ‘the sober veil that covers a divine | |
peace. You know that the bosom ean ache be- | |
neath diamond brooches ; and how nuny blithe | |
hearts dance under coarse wool !—Chapin. | |
How litde do they seé what is, who frame | |
their hasty judgments upon that which seems !— | |
Southey. | |
O place! O form! how often dost thon with | |
thy case, thy habit, wrench awe from tools,-and | |
tie the wiser sonls to thy false seeming !— | |
Shakespeare. | |
* A man of the world must scem to be that he | |
wishes to be.—Bruyére. | |
In the condition of men, it frequently hap-, | |
pens that ericf and anxiety lie hid under the | |
golden robes of prosperity ; ‘and the gloom of | |
calamity is-cheered by seeret raciations of hope | |
jand comfort; as in the works of nature,” the | |
bog is sometimes covered with flowers, and the | |
mine concealed in the barren crags.—Johnson. | |
L.have always observed that to succeed in | |
the world we mns¢ be foolish in appearance, but | |
in reality wise.—A/ontesquieu. | |
Gildcd tombs do worms enfold.— Shakespeare. | |
A miser grows rich by seeming poor; an | |
extravagant man grows poor by seeming rich.— | |
° : Shenstone. | |
In civilized society external advantages | |
moake us more respected. A man with a good | |
coat upon his back meets with a better reception | |
than he who has a bad one. You may analyze | |
this and say, What is there in it? But that | |
will avail yon nothing, for it isa part of a | |
general system.—Johuson.~ | |
Beware, so long as you live, of Judging men | |
by their outward appearance.—La Fontaine. | |
APPETITE. | |
Reason should direct and appetite obey.— | |
Cicero, | |
Onr appetites, of one or another kind, are | |
excellent spnrs to onr reason, which might | |
‘otherwise but feebly sct about the great-ends-of | |
preserving and continuing the species. —Lamd. | |
Good cheer is no hindrance to a good life-— | |
Aristippus. | |
There are so few invalids who-are invaria- | |
bly and conscientiously untemptable by those | |
deadly domestic enemies, sweetmeats, pastry, | |
and gravies, that the usual civilities at‘a meal are | |
very like being politely assisted to the grave.— | |
Willis. | |
Fat paunches have lean pates.—Shakespeare. | |
These appetites are very humiliating weak- | |
nesses. That our,grace depends so.largely:npon | |
animal condition is not qpite flattering to those | |
who are hyper-spiritual.— Beecher. | |
Choose rather to punish your appetites than | |
to be punished by them.—Zyrius Maximus. | |
Hunger is a cloud out of which falls a rain | |
of eloquence and knowledge; when the belly is | |
empty, the body becomes spirit; when itis fnll, | |
the spirit becomes body.—Saadi. | |
Animals feed, man eats; the man of intel- | |
lect alone knows how-to eat.—Brillut Savarin. | |
The youth who follows his appetites too soon | |
seizes the enp, before it has received its best | |
ingredients, and hy anticipating his pleasures, | |
robs the remaining parts of lite of their share, | |
so that his eagerness only produces a manhood | |
of imbecility and an age of pain.— Goldsmith. | |
Doth not the appetite alter? A man loves | |
the meat in his youth that he cannot endure in | |
his age.— Shakespeare. | |
No man’s body.is as strong as his appetites, | |
but Heaven has corrected the boundlessness of | |
his voluptnous desires by stinting his strength | |
and contracting bis capacities. Tillotson. | |
Tt is diffienlt to speak to the belly beeanse | |
it has no ears.—Plutarch. | |
Seest thou how pale the sated guest rises | |
from supper, where the appetite is puzzled | |
with varieties? The body, too, burdened with | |
yesterday’s excess, weighs down the soul, and | |
fixes to the earth this particle of the divine | |
essence.— Horace. | |
Hunger makes everything sweet except itself, | |
for want is the teacher of habits.—Antiphanes. | |
--- Chunk 1, Page 47 --- | |
APPLAUSE. | |
29 | |
APPRECIATION. | |
i | |
Now good digestion wait on appetite, ‘and | |
health on both !—Shakespeare. | |
The lower your seuses are kept, the better | |
you may govern them. “Appetite ‘and reason | |
are commonly like two, buckets, — when one is | |
at thé top, the other is at the bottom. Now of | |
the two, I had rather the reason-bucket be up- | |
permost.—Jeremy Collier. | |
A well-governed appetite 'is-a great part of | |
liberty. — Seneca. | |
Appetite is the will’s solicitor, the will is | |
appetite’s controller.. No. desire is properly | |
called will, unless where reason and understand- | |
ing prescribe the thing desired —Z/ooker. | |
In grief I have always found cating a won- | |
drous relief.—Afoore. | |
_ Some men are born to feast, and not to | |
fight ; whose sluggish minds, even in fair honor’s | |
field, stilt on their dinner turn.—Joanna Baillie. | |
The difference between a rich man anda | |
poor man is this, —the former eats when he | |
pleases, and the latter when he can get it.— | |
Sir Walter Raleigh. | |
For the sake of health, medicines are taken | |
by weight and measure ; so ought food to be, or | |
by some similar rule-—Skelton. | |
APPLAUSE. | |
A universal applanse is seldom Jess than | |
two thirds of a scandal —ZEstrange. | |
Such a noise arose as the shronds make at | |
sea in a stiff tempest, as loud and to as many | |
tunes, — hats, cloaks, doublets, I think, flew up ; | |
‘and had their faces been. loose, this day they | |
had heen lost.—Shakespeare. | |
Applause is the spur of noble minds, the | |
end and-aim of weak ones.— Colton. | |
Flattery. of the verbal kind is gross. In | |
short, applause is of too coarse a nature to be | |
swallowed in the gross, though the extraet or | |
tincture be ever so agreeable.—Shenstone. | |
The applause of a single human being is of | |
great consequence.—/ohnson. | |
.. Neither human applause nor human een- | |
gure is to be taken as the, test of truth; but | |
either should sct us upon testing ourselyes.— | |
Bishop Whately. | |
When, the million applaud you, seriously | |
ask yourself what harm you have done; when | |
they censure you, what good !—Colton. | |
Applause waits on success: the-fickle multi- | |
tude, like the light straw that floats along the | |
stream, glide with the current still, and follow | |
fortune.—Jrankiin. | |
A slowness ‘to -applaud betrays:a cold tem- | |
per or an envious spirit—Z/annak JIfore. | |
O popular.applause ! what heart of man is | |
proof agaiust thy sweet, seducing charins 7— | |
Cowper. | |
I would applaud thee to the very. echo, that | |
should applaud again.— Shakespeare. | |
Praise from the common peopie is generally | |
false, and rather follows vain persons than vir- | |
tious ones.— Bacon. | |
APPRECIATION. | |
To love one that is great is almost to be: | |
great one’s self. /udame Necker. | |
Praise is a debt we owe- unto the-virtues of | |
others, and due unto our own from all whom | |
malice hath not made -mutes or envy struek | |
dumb.—Sir Thomas Browne. | |
Were she perfect, one would admire her more, | |
but love her less.— Grattan. | |
It is very singular how the fact of a man’s | |
death often seems to, give people-a trucr idea of | |
his character, whether for good or evil, than | |
they have ever possessed while he was living | |
and acting among them.—Zfarethorne. | |
It is common, to esteem most what is most | |
unknown.— Tacitus. | |
Nature and books belong to the eves that | |
sec them. It depends on the-mood of the man, | |
whether he shall see the sunset or the fine poem. | |
There are always sunsets, and there is always | |
genius; but only a few-honrs so serene. that we | |
ean relish nature or criticism. The: more or | |
less depends on structure or temperament. | |
Temperament is the iron wire on-which the | |
beads are strung. Of what use is fortune or | |
talent to a cold and defective nature ?—Lmerson | |
Men should.allow others’ excellences, to pre- | |
serve a modest opinion of their own.—Barrow. | |
To guard the mind against the temptation | |
of thinking that there are no_ good people, say | |
to them: “Be suchas you would like to sce | |
others, and you will find those who resemble | |
you.” —Bossuet. | |
To love her (Lady Elizabeth Hastings) was | |
a liberal education.— Steele. | |
We must never undervalue any person. The | |
workman loves not that his work should be | |
despised in his presence. Now God is present | |
everywhere, and every person is his work.— | |
De Sales. | |
In this world there is one godlike thing, the | |
essence of all that ever was or ever will he of | |
godlike in this world, — the veneration donc to | |
human worth by the hearts of men.— Carlyle. | |
--- Chunk 1, Page 48 --- | |
APPRECIATION. | |
30 | |
APPRECIATION. | |
You think much too well of me as a man. | |
No anthor can be as moral as his works, as no | |
preacher is as pions as his sermons.—Zichter. | |
Men prize the! thing ungained more than it | |
is.— Shakespeare. | |
Despise not any man, and do not spurn any- | |
thing. For there is no nian that hath not his | |
hour, nor is there anything that hath not its | |
place.—Rabbi Ben Azai. | |
To appreciate the noble is a gain which can | |
never be torn from us.—Goethe. | |
No good writer was ever long neglected; no | |
great man overlooked hy men equally great. | |
Impatience is a proof of inferior strength, and a | |
destroyer of what little there nay be.—Zandor. | |
Sometimes a common seene in nature —one | |
of the common relations of life — will open it- | |
self to us with a-brightness and pregnaney of | |
meaning unknown before. Sometimes a thought | |
of this kind forms an cra-in life. It changes | |
the whole future course. It is a new ereation. | |
Channing. | |
You may fail to shine, in the opinion of | |
others, both in your conyersation and: actions, | |
from being superior,-as well-as inferior to them. | |
Greville. | |
We commend a horse for his strength, ‘and | |
sureness of foot, and not for his rich caparisons ; | |
a greyhound for his share of heels, not for his | |
fine collar; a hawk for her wing, not for her | |
jesses and bells. Why, in like manner, do we | |
not value a man for what is properly his own ? | |
He has a great train, a beautiful palace, so | |
much credit, so many thousand pounds a | |
year, and all these are about him, but not in | |
him.— Montaigne. | |
There is no surer mark of the absence of | |
the highest moral and intellectnal qualities than | |
a cold reception of excellence.—S. Bailey. | |
People do not always understand the motives | |
of sublime conduet, and when they are aston- | |
ished they are-very apt to think they onght to | |
be alarmed. The truth is, none are fit judges | |
of greatness but those who are capable of it.— | |
Jane Porter. | |
Next to excellence is the appreciation of it.— | |
Thackeray. | |
Every man stamps his value on himself. | |
The price we challenge for ourselves is given us, | |
There docs not live on earth the man, be his | |
station what it may, that I despise myself com- | |
pared with him. Man is made great or little | |
by his own will. —Sciiller. | |
A man does but faintly relish that felicity, | |
which costs him nothing ; happy they whom | |
pain leads to pleasure.—Henry Home. | |
It is with certain good qualities as with the | |
senses; those who are entirely deprived of them | |
ean neither appreciate nor comprehend them.— | |
Rochefoucauld. | |
Our companions please us less from the | |
charms we find in their conversation than from | |
those they find in ours.— Greville. | |
In an audience of rough people a generous | |
sentiment always brings down the house. In | |
the tumult of war both sides applaud an heroic | |
deed.—Z. IV. Higginson. | |
To feel, to feel exquisitely, is the lot of very | |
many ; it is the charm that lends a. superstitious | |
joy to fear. But to appreciate belongs to the | |
few; to one or two alone, here and there, the | |
blended passion and understanding that consti- | |
tute in its essenee worship.—Charles Auchester. | |
We never know a greater eharaeter until | |
soinething congenial to it has grown up within | |
ourselves. — Channing. | |
In proportion as our own mind is enlarged, | |
we discover a greater number of men of origi- | |
nality. Commonplace people see no difference | |
between one man and another.—Pascal. | |
Contemporaries appreciate the man rather | |
than the merit; posterity will regard the merit | |
rather than the man.—Buzton. | |
The charming landscape which I saw this | |
morning is indubitably made up of some twenty | |
or thirty farms. Miller owns this field, Locke | |
that, and Manning the woodland beyond. But | |
none of them owns the landscape. There is a | |
property in the horizon whieh no man has bnt | |
he whose eye can integrate all the parts, that is, | |
the poet. “This is the best part of these men’s | |
farms, yet to this their warranty-deeds give no | |
title —Emerson. | |
He is incapable of a truly, good action: who | |
knows not the pleasure in contemplating the | |
good actions of others.—Lavater. | |
Whatever the benefits of fortune are, they | |
yet require a palate fit to relish and taste them ; | |
itis fruition, and not possession, that renders | |
us happy.—Lontaigne. | |
Those who, from the desire of our perfection, | |
have the keenest eye for our faults generally | |
compensate for it by taking a higher view of | |
our merits than we deserve.—J. 2. Boyes. | |
I pity the man who can travel from Dan to | |
Beersheba, and ery, ‘“’T is all barren!” And | |
so it is, and so is all the world to him who will | |
not cultivate the fruits it offers.—Sterne. | |
The more enlarged is our own mind, the | |
igreater number we discover of men of origi- | |
‘nality. Your commonplace people see no differ. | |
“ence between one man and another.—Pascal. | |
--- Chunk 1, Page 49 --- | |
ARCHITECTURE. 31 ARGUMENT, | |
Do not justify all your actions. Do not Greck architecture is the flowering of geom. | |
appreciate the things as they. touch you_the | |
nearest, and have not your cyes “always fixed | |
upon yourself.—Michter, | |
We are very much what others think of us. | |
The reception our observations meet with gives | |
us conrage to proceed or damps our efforts. — | |
Hazlitt. | |
ARCHITECTURE, | |
The Gothic cathedral is a blossoming in | |
stone, subdued by the insatiable demand of har- | |
mony in man. The mountain of granite blooms | |
into an eternal flower, with the lightness and | |
delicate finish as well as the aerial proportions | |
and perspective of vegetable beauty.—Zmerson. | | |
A Gothic church is a petrified religion. — | |
Coleridge. | |
Architecture is the printing-press of all ages, | |
and gives a history of the state of the society in | |
which it was erected, from the crom}ech of the | |
Druids to those toy-shops of royal bad taste, — | |
Carlton House and the Brighton Pavilion. The | |
Tower and Westminster Abbey are glorious | |
pages in the history of time, and tell the story | |
of an iron despotism, and the cowardice of un- | |
limited power.—Lady dforgan. . | |
The architect must not only understand | |
drawing, but music.— Vitrartus. | |
Architecture exhibits the greatest extent of | |
the difference from nature which may exist in | |
works of art. It involves all the powers of | |
desicn, and is sen) pture and painting inclusively. | |
It shows the greatness”of man, and shonld-at | |
the same time teach him humility.— Coleridge. | |
Architecture is frozen music — | |
Madame deStaél. | |
In designing a house and gardens, it is hap- | |
py when there is an opportnnity of maintaining | |
a subordination of parts; the house so luckily | |
placed as to exhibit a view of the whole: de- | |
sign. I have sometimes thought that there was | |
room for it to resemble an epic or dramatic | |
poem.—Shenstone. | |
Houses arc built to live in, more than to | |
look on ;-therefore let use be preferred before | |
uniformity except where both may be had.— | |
Bacon. | |
An instinctive taste teaches men to build | |
their churches in flat countries with spire-stee- | |
pies, which, as they cannot be referred to any | |
other object, point as with silent finger to the | |
sky and stars.— Coleridge. | |
Moller, in his Essay on Architecture, taught | |
that the building which was fitted accurately to | |
answer its end would turn’ out to be heantiful, | |
though beauty had not been intended. I find | |
the like unity in human structures rather viru- | |
lent and pervasive.—£merson, | |
etry.— emerson. | |
If cities were built by the sound of music, | |
then some edifices would apptar to be construct- | |
ed by grave, solemn tones, — others: to have | |
danced forth to light fantastic airs.—Llawthorne. | |
ARGUMENT. | |
In argument similes are like songs in love: | |
they much describe ; they nothing prove. | |
Prior. | |
Some men at the approach of a dispute | |
neigh like horses. Unless there be an argu- | |
ment, they think nothing is doing. Some talk- | |
ers excel in the precision with which they | |
formulate their thoughts, so that you get from | |
them someivhat to remember ; others lay criti- | |
cism asleep by-a charm: Especially women use | |
words that are not words, — as steps in a dance | |
are not steps, — but reproduce the genius of that | |
they speak of ; as the sound of some bells makes | |
us think of the bell merely, whilst the church- | |
chimes in-the distance bring the church ‘and its | |
serious memories before us.—Lmerson, : | |
He that is not open to conviction is not | |
qualified for discussion —Bishop Whately. | |
An academical education, sir, bids me tell | |
you, that it is necessary to establish the truth | |
of your first proposition before you presume to | |
draw inferences from it.— Junius. | |
Arguments, like children, should he like the | |
subject that begets them.—T'homas Decker. | |
Reply with wit to gravity, and with gravity | |
to wit; make a full concession to your adversa- | |
ry, and give him every eredit, for those argu- | |
ments you know you can answer, and slur over | |
those you feel you cannot; but above all, if he | |
have the privilege of making his reply take es- | |
pecial eare that the strongest thing you have to | |
urge is the last.—Colton. | |
Arguments out of a pretty mouth are unan- | |
swerable.—Addison. | |
T never love those salamanders that are nev- | |
er well but-when they arein'the fire of conten- | |
tions. Iwill rather snffer a thousand wrongs | |
than offer one. I have always found that to | |
strive with a superior is injurious; with ‘an | |
equal, doubtful; with an inferior, sordid and | |
base; with any, full of unquietness.— | |
Bishop Hall. | |
Be calm in arguing ;-for fierceness makes | |
etror a fault, and truth discourtesy.—JZerbert. | |
Argument, as usually managed, is the worst | |
sort of conversation ;.as it is generally ii books | |
the worst sort of reading. —Swift. | |
Wise men argue causes, and fools decide | |
them.—Anacharsis. | |
--- Chunk 1, Page 50 --- | |
ARISTOCRACY. | |
82 | |
ART. | |
If thou continnest to take delight in idle | |
argumentation thou mayest be qualified to com- | |
bat with the sophists, but will never know how | |
to live with men.—Socrates. | |
He who establishes his argument by noise | |
and command shows that reason is weak.— | |
Montaigne. | |
When we would show any one that he is | |
mistaken, our best course is to observe on what | |
side he considers the subject, — for his ‘view of | |
it is generally right on this side, — and.adinit to | |
him that he is right so far. He will he-Satisfied | |
with this acknowledgment, that he was not | |
wrong in his judgment, but only inadvertent in | |
not Jooking at the whole case.—Pascal. | |
As the scale of the balance must give way to | |
the weight that presses it down, so the mind | |
must of necessity yield to demonstration.— | |
: : Cicero. | |
Testimony is like an arrow shot from a long | |
bow, the force of it depends on the strength of | |
the hand that draws it. Argument is like an | |
arrow from a cross-bow, which has equal force | |
though drawn by a child — Boyle. | |
Gratuitous violence in argument betrays a | |
conscious weakness of the cause, and is usual- | |
ly a signal of despair. /unius. | |
Tt is an exeellent rule to be ohserved in | |
all disputes, that men should give soft words and | |
hard arguments ; that they should not so much | |
strive to vex as to convinee each other.— | |
Wilkins. | |
Nothing is more certain than that much of | |
the force,-as well as*grace, of arguments or in- | |
structions depends on their conciseness.— Pope. | |
In a debate, rather pull-to picecs the argu- | |
ment of thy antagonist than offer him-any of | |
thy own; for thus thou wilt fight him im his | |
own country.—Fielding. | |
ARISTOCRACY. | |
Amongst the masses —eyen in revolutions | |
— aristocracy must ever exist; destroy it in | |
nobility, and it becomes centred in the rich and | |
powerful Honses of the Commons. ~ Pull them | |
down, and it still survives in the master and | |
foreman of the workshop.— Guizot. | |
Aristocracy has three successive ages, — the | |
age of superiorities, the age of privileges, and | |
the age of vanities; having passcd out of the | |
first, it degenerates in the second, and dies away | |
in the third.— Chateaubriand. 7 | |
ARMY, | |
For the army is a school in which the nig- | |
gardly become generous, and “the generons | |
prodigal; and if there are some soldiers misers, | |
they are a kind of monsters, but very rarely | |
seen.— Cervantes. | |
The army is.a good book to open to study | |
human life. One Jearns there to put his-hand | |
to everything, to the Jowest and highest things. | |
The most delicate and rich are forced to see | |
living nearly everywhere poverty, and to live | |
with it, and.to measure his morsel_of bread and | |
draught of water.—Alyred de Vigny. | |
ARROGANCE, | |
What_is so hateful to a poor-man‘as the | |
purse-proud arrogance of a rich one? Let for- | |
tune shift the scene, and make the poor man | |
rich, he runs at once into the vice that he de- | |
claimed against so feclingly ; these are strange | |
contradictions in.the human character.— | |
Cumberland, | |
When men are most snve and arrogant, | |
they are commonly the most mistaken, and | |
have then given views to passion, without that | |
proper deliberation and suspense -which can | |
alone scenre them from the grossest absurdities. | |
Hume. | |
When Diogenes came to Olympia and per- | |
ceived some Rhocian youths dressed with great | |
splendor and magnificence, he,said with a smile | |
of contempt, “ This is.all arrogance.” After- | |
wards some Lacedemdnians came in his way, as | |
mean and ‘as sordid in their attire as the dress | |
of the others was rich, “ This,” said he, ‘is | |
also arrogance.” — Elian. | |
Arrogance is the obstruction of wisdom — | |
. Bion. | |
A man that loves to be peevish and para- | |
mount, and to play the sovereign at every turn, | |
does but blast the blessings of life, and swagger | |
away his own enjoyments; and not to enlarge | |
upon the folly, not to mention the injustice of | |
sucha behavior, it is always the sign of a little, | |
unbenevolent temper. It is disease and dis- | |
eredit:all over, and there is no more greatness | |
in it, than in the swelling of a dropsy | |
’ eremy Collier. | |
ART, | |
That which exists in nature is a something | |
purely individual and particular, Art, on the | |
contrary, is essentially destined to manifest the | |
general.— Schlegel. | |
In senlpture, did ever anybody call the | |
Apollo a faney piece? Or say of the Laocotn | |
how it might be made different? A master- | |
piece of art has in the mind a fixed place in the | |
chain of being, as much as a plant or a crystal,— | |
mer son. | |
It is not so much in buying pictures, as in | |
being pictures, that you can encourage a-noble | |
school. The best patronage of art is net that | |
which seeks for the pleasures of sentiment in a | |
vague ideality, nor for beauty of form in a marble | |
image, but that which educates your children | |
into living heroes, and binds down the flights | |
and the fondnesses of the heart into practical | |
duty and faithful devotion. —Auskin. | |
--- Chunk 1, Page 51 --- | |
ART. 33 ART. | |
There is no more potent antidote to low sen- Art employs. method for the symmetrical | |
suality than the adoration of the “beantiful. formation of beauty, as science employs it for | |
“All the higher arts of design are essentially the logical exposition of truth; but the ine | |
chaste without respect to the object. ‘Ehey chanical process is, in the last, ever kept visibly | |
jnuify the thoughts as tragedy purifies the.pas- distinet, while in the first it escapes from sight | |
sions. .‘Pheir accidental cffeets dre net worth -amid the shows of color and the curves uf grace.— | |
consideration, — there are souls to whom even Bulwer Lytton. | |
atyestal is not haly.— Schlegel. —— | |
He that sips of many arts drinks of none. — | |
Whatis art? Nature concentrated —Balzae. fuller, | |
It is only with the best judges that the No man can thoroughly master more than | |
highest works of art would lose none of their one art or science. The world has never seen | |
honor by being seen in-their rudiments,— 7a pertect painter. What would it h uviuiled | |
J. £. Boyes.” for Raphael to have aimed at Titian’s culor- | |
ing, or for Titian to have imitated Raphael’s | |
Every common dauber writes rasca] and vil- drawing, but to have diverted each from the | |
lain under his pictures, because the pictures true bent of his natural genius, and to have | |
themselves have neither character nor resem- made cach sensible of his.own deficiencies, with- | |
blance. But the works of-a master require no out any probability of supplying them—//aclitt. | |
index. lis features and coloring are taken — | |
from nature. The impression they make is Many persons feel art, some understand | |
immediate and uniform; nor is it possible to it; but few both feel and understand it. —L/ lard. | |
mistake his characters.— Junius. | |
; ' —_— Art, not less cloquently than literature, | |
The perfection of art is to conceal‘art.— teaches her children to venerate the single eye. | |
Quintilian. Remember Matsys. | His representations of | |
—_ imiser-lite are “breathing. A forleited bond | |
Winckelmann wished to live with-a work of twinkles in the hard smile. But follow him to | |
artas atriend. The saying is true of pen and: an altarpiece. His Apostle has canght a stray | |
pencil. Fresh lustre shoots from Lyeidas ina tint from his usurer. Features of exquisite | |
twenticth perusal. The portraits of Clarendon beanty are seen and loved; but the old nature | |
are mellowed by every year of refleetion.— of avarice frets under the glow of devotion. | |
Willmott. | Pathos staggers on the edge of faree.— Willmott. | |
Art must anchor in nature, or it is the sport We speak of profane arts, but there are | |
of every breath of folly.—Zazlite. none properly such; every art is holy in it | |
self, it is the son of eternal light.—Zegner. | |
The names of great painters are like pass- | |
ing bells; in the name of Velasquez, you hear; Art is a jealons mistress, and, if'a man have | |
sounded the fall of Spain; in the name of ja genins for painting, poetry, music, architec- | |
Titian, that of Venice; in the name of Leo-/ ture, or philosophy,.he makes a bad husband, | |
nardy, that of Milan; in the name of Raphael, , and an il provider, and should be wise in sca- | |
that of Rome. And there is profound jnstice son, and not fetter himself with duties which | |
in this; for in proportion to the nebleness of , will imbitter his days, and spoil him for his | |
the power is the guilt of its use for purposes proper work.—£ merson. | |
yaiu or vile; and hitherto the greater the art, | — | |
the more surely has it been used, and used} The highest problem of any art is to cause | |
solely, for the decoration of pride, or the pro- by appearauce the illusion of a higher reality. — | |
voking of sensuality. askin. “Goethe. | |
Art, as fur as it has ability, follows. naturé, All the arts, which have a tendeney to raise | |
as a pupil imitates his master: thus your art’ manin the scate of being, havea certain cominon | |
must be, as it were, Gou’s grandchild.—Dante. , bond of union, and are connected, if I may be | |
— | allowed to say so, by blood-relationship with | |
Art is the effort of man to‘express.the ideas one another.— Cicero. | |
which nature suggests to him of a power above — | |
nature, whether that power be within the re- A work of art is said to be perfect in propor- | |
cesses of his own being, or in the Great First: tion as it docs not remind the spectater of the | |
Cause of which nature, like himself, is but the process by which it was created. —7nekerman. | |
effect. —Bulwer Lytton. — | |
—— Moral beanty is the basis of all true beauty. | |
The only kind of sublimity which a painter This foundation is somewhat covered and veiled | |
or. sculptor should ‘aim. at is to express by in nature. Art brings it ont,and gives it more | |
certain jiroportions'and positions of limbs and !-transparent forms. It is here that nrt, when it | |
features that strength and dignity of mind, aud; knows well its power and resources, engages 1 | |
vigor and activity of body, which cnables men ja struggle with nature in whieh it may have the | |
to conceive and execute great actions. —Burke, “advantage. Victor Cousin. | |
3 | |
--- Chunk 1, Page 52 --- | |
ART. | |
Those critics who, in modern times, have | |
the most thoughtfully analyzed the laws of | |
esthetic beauty, concur in maintaining that the | |
real truthfulness of all works of imagination — | |
sculpture, painting, written fiction — 1s so purely | |
in the imagination, that the artist never seeks | |
to represent the positive truth, but the idealized | |
image of a truth.— Bulwer Lytton. | |
The artist belongs to his work, not the | |
work to the artist.—/Vovalis. . | |
Art is the microscope of the mind, which | |
sharpens the wit us the other does the sight; | |
and converts every object into a little universe | |
in itself. Art may be said to draw aside the | |
veil from nature. To those who ‘are perfectly | |
unskilled in the practice, unimbued with the | |
principles of art, most objects present only a | |
confused mass.—Lazlitt. | |
I think sculpture and painting have an effect | |
to teach us manners, and abolish hurry.— | |
Emerson, | |
I once asked a distinguished artist what | |
place he gave to labor in art. “Labor,” he in. | |
effect said, “is the beginning, the middle, and | |
the end of art.” Turning then tosanother— | |
“ And you,” I inquired, “what do you consid- | |
er as the great force in art?” “Love,” he | |
replied. In their two answers I found but one | |
truth.—Bovee. | |
Ah! would that we could at once paint | |
with the eyes! In the long way, from the eye | |
through the arm to the pencil, how much is | |
lost !—Lessing. | |
Art is & severe business; most serious when | |
employed in grand and sacred objects. The | |
artist stands higher than art, higher than the | |
object. He uses art for his purposes, and deals | |
with the object after his own fashion.—Goethe. | |
The great artist is the slave of his ideal.— | |
Bovee. | |
The refining influence is the study of art, | |
which is the science of beauty; and J find that | |
every man values every scrap of knowledge in | |
art, every observation of his own in it, every | |
hint he has caught from another. For the laws | |
of beauty are the beauty of beauty, and give | |
the mind the same or a higher joy than the | |
sight of it gives the senses. The study of art | |
is of high value to the growth of the intellect.— | |
Emerson. | |
The learned understand the reason of the | |
art, the unlearned feel the pleasure.—Quiatilian. | |
Art docs not imitate nature, but it founds | |
itself on the study of nature,— takes from na- | |
ture the selections which best accord with its | |
own intention, and then bestows on them that | |
which natnre does not possess, viz. the mind | |
and the soul of man.—Bulwer Lytton. | |
34 | |
ART. | |
Art neither belongs to religion nor to ethics; | |
but, like these, it brings us nearer to the Intinite, | |
one of the forms of which it manifests to us. | |
God is the source of -all beauty, as of all truth, | |
of all religion, of all morality. The most ex- | |
alted object, therefore, of art is to reveal in its | |
own manner the sentiment of the Infinite — | |
Victor Cousin. | |
It is-the end of art to inoculate men with the | |
love of nature.— Beecher. | |
The mother of useful-arts is necessity ; that | |
of the fine arts is luxury. For father the for- | |
mer has intellect; the latter genius, which it- | |
self is a kind of luxury.— Schopenhauer. | |
The true work of ‘art is but a shadow of the | |
divine perfection.—iichael Angelo. | |
Since T have known God in a saving man- | |
ner, painting, poetry, and music have had charms | |
unknown to me before. I have received what I | |
suppose isa taste for them, or religion has refined | |
my mind.and made it susceptible of impressions | |
from the sublime and beautiful. O, how religion | |
secures the heightened enjoyment of those pleas- | |
ures which keep so many from God, by their | |
becoming a sonrce of pride !—LHenry ‘Martyn. | |
The first essential to success in the art you | |
practise is respect for the art itself.— | |
Bulwer Lytton. | |
What a conception of art must those theo- | |
rists have who exclude portraits from the proper | |
province of the fine arts! It is exactly as if we | |
denied that to be poetry in which the poet cel- | |
ebrates the woman he really loves. Portraiture | |
is the basis and the touchstone of historic paint- | |
ing.—Schlegel. | |
The flitting sunbeam has been grasped -and | |
made to do man’s bidding in place of the paint- | |
er’s pencil. And although Franklin tamed the | |
lightning, yet not until yesterday has its instan- | |
taneous flash been made the vehicle of lan- | |
guage; thus in the transmission of thought, an- | |
nihilating space'and time.—Professor Robinson. | |
Art is based on ‘a strong sentiment of relig- | |
ion, —on a profound and mighty earnestness ; | |
hence it is so prone to co-operate with religion. | |
Goethe. | |
Art, however innocent, looks like deceiving. | |
Aaron Aull. | |
Remember always, in painting as in elo- | |
quence, the greater your strength, the quieter | |
will be your manner, and the fewer your words ; | |
and in painting, as in all the arts and acts of | |
life, the secret of hieh snecess will be found, not | |
in a fretful and various excellence, but in a quiet | |
singleness of justly chosen aim.—uskin. | |
An amateur may not be an artist, though an | |
artist should be an amateur.— Disraeli. | |
--- Chunk 1, Page 53 --- | |
ART. | |
Al things are artificial; for nature is the | |
‘art of God.— Sir Thomas Browne. | |
Excellence in art is to be attained only by | |
active effort, and not by passive iinpressions ; | |
35 | |
ARTIFICE. | |
This is an-art which does mend nature, — | |
change it rather; but the art itself’ is nature. | |
Shakespeare, | |
Many young painters would never have | |
by ‘the manly overcoming “of difficulties, by | taken their pencils in hand il they could have | |
patient struggle against adverse circumst: | |
hy the thritty use of moderate opportunities. | |
The great artists were not rocked and dandled | |
into eminence, bnt they attained to it by that | |
course of ‘labor and discipline which no man | |
need go to Rome or Paris or London to enter | |
npon.—//illard. | |
Art needs solitude. or misery or passion. | |
Lukewarmt zephyrs wilt it. It is a rock-flower | |
flourishing by stormy blasts and in stony soil.— | |
Alex. Dumas. | |
The inglorious arts of peace.— | |
Andrew Marvell. | |
The misfortune in the state is, that nobody | |
ean enjoy life in peace, but that everybody must | |
govern; and in art, that nebody will enjoy what | |
has been produced, but that every one wants to | |
reproduce on his own aecsunt.— Goethe. | |
An artist has more.than two eyes. — | |
Haliburton. | |
All men are in some degree impressed by | |
the face of the world; some men even to | |
dclight. ‘This love of heauty is taste.’ Others | |
have the same love in sneh excess that, not con- | |
tertt with admiring, they seek to embody it in | |
new forms. ‘The creation of beauty is:art.— | |
Emerson. | |
A trne artist shonld put a generons deceit on | |
the spectators, and effect the noblest designs by | |
easy methods.— Burke. | |
The summit charms us, the steps to it do | |
not; with the heights before our eyes, we like to | |
linger in the plain. It is only a part of art that | |
ean be tanght; but the artist needs the whole. | |
He who is only half instrneted speaks mnch and | |
is always wrong ; who knows it wholly is content | |
with acting and speaks seldom or late.—Goethe. | |
The highest art is artlessness.— | |
FA, Durivage. | |
Whatever may he the means, or whatever | |
the more immediate end of any kind of art, | |
all of it that is good agrees in this, that it is the | |
expression of one soul talking to another, and | |
is precious according to the greatness of the | |
soul that utters it.—Ruskin: | |
In art, to express the infinite one should sug- | |
gest infinitely more than is expressed.— Goethe. | |
Artists will sometimes sperk of Rome with | |
disparagement or indifference while it is before | |
them; but no artist ever lived ia Rome and then | |
left it, without sighing to return. —J/illard. | |
e, felt, known, and understood, carly enough, what | |
really produced a master like Raphacl.— Goethe. | |
The object of art is to crystallize emotion | |
into thought, and then to fix it in form.— | |
Frangois Delsarte. | |
The power, whether of painter or poct, to | |
deseribe rightly what he calls an ideal thing | |
depends upon its being to him not an ideal but | |
‘a real thing. “No man ever did or ever will work | |
well, but either from actnal sight or sight of | |
faith.— Ruskin. | |
In the fine arts, as in many other things, | |
we know well only what we have not learned.— | |
Cham/ort. | |
The ordinary true, or purely real, cannot | |
be the object of the arts. Insion on a ground | |
of truth, —that is the secret of the fine arts. — | |
Joubert. | |
In old times men used their powers of paint- | |
ing to show the objects of faith; in later times | |
they used the objects of faith that they might | |
show their powers of painting.—fuskin. | |
The enemy of art is the enemy of nature; | |
art is nothiug. but the highest. sagacity ‘and | |
exertions of human nature; and what nature | |
will he honor who honors not-the human !— | |
Larater. | |
The highest art is always the most religious ; | |
and the greatest artist is always a devont man. | |
A seoffing Raphael or Michael Angelo is not | |
conceivable.— Blackie. | |
In the-art of design, color is to form what | |
yerse is to prose,—a- more harmonious and | |
Inminous vehicle of the thonght.— | |
Afrs, Jameson. | |
The painter is, as to the exeention of his | |
work, a mechanic ; but as to his conception, his | |
spirit, and design, he is hardly below even the | |
poet in liberal art.—Steee. | |
ARTIFICE. | |
Artifice. is allowed to deceive a rival; we | |
may employ everything against our enemics,— | |
Richelieu. | |
The ordinary employment of artifice is the | |
mark of a petty mind; and i¢ almost always | |
happens that he who uses it to cover himself in | |
one place uncovers himself in another. | |
' Rochefoucauld. | |
To know to dissemble is the knowledge of | |
kings.— Richelieu, . | |
--- Chunk 1, Page 54 --- | |
ASKING. | |
36 | |
ASSOCIATES. . | |
Nature is mighty. Artis mighty. Artifice | |
is weak. For nature is the work of a mightier | |
power than man. Art is the work of man un- | |
der the guidance and inspiration of a mightier | |
power. Artifice is the work of mere man, in | |
the imbecility of his mimic understanding.— | |
. Hlare. | |
ASKING. | |
I am prejudiced in favor of him who can | |
solicit boldly, without impudence, — he has faith | |
in humanity, he has fuith in himself. No one | |
who is not acenstomed to give grandly can ask | |
nobly and with boldness.—Lavater. | |
ASPIRATION, | |
There is not a heart but has its moments of | |
longing, _ yearning for something better, no- | |
bler, holicr than it knows now.—Beecher. | |
What we truly and earnestly aspire to be, | |
that in some sense we are. The mere aspira- | |
tion, by changing the frame of the mind, for the | |
moment realizes itself. Avrs. Jameson. | |
Man onght always to have something which | |
he prefers to life; otherwise life itself will appear | |
to him tiresome and void.—Seume. | |
Aspirations after the holy, — the only aspi- | |
ration in which the human soul can be assured | |
that it will never mect with disappointment.— | |
Maria JL Intosh. | |
Too low they build who build bencath the | |
stars.— Young. | |
O that I had wings like a dove !—Bible. | |
We learn to treasure what is above this | |
earth; we long for revelation, which nowhere | |
burns more purely and more beautifully than in | |
the New Pestument.— Goethe. | |
ASSERTION, | |
It is an impndent kind of sorcery, to attempt | |
to blind ns with the smoke, without convincing | |
us that the fire has existed.—.Junius. | |
Assertion, unsupported by fact, is nugatory ; | |
surmise and general abuse, in however elegant | |
language, onght not to pass for proofs.— Junius. | |
ASSOCIATES. | |
It is expedient to have an acquaintance with | |
those who have lovked into the world; who | |
know men, understand business, and ean give | |
you good intelligence and good advice when | |
they are wanted — Bishop Lorne. . | |
He that walketh with wise men shall be | |
wise; but_a companion of fools shall be de- | |
stroyed.— Bible. | |
He who comes from the kitchen smells of | |
its smoke; he who adheres to a sect has some- | |
thing of its cant; the college air pursues the | |
stndent, and dry inhumanity him who herds | |
with literary pedants.—Lavater. | |
if men wish to be held in esteem, they must | |
associate with those only who!are estimable.— | |
Bruyere. | |
Might I give counsel to any young hearer, | |
I would say to him, Try to frequent the com- | |
pany of. your betters. In books and life is | |
the most wholesome society; Iearn to admire | |
rightly ; the great pleasure of life is that. Note | |
whit the great men ‘admired,— they admired | |
great things; narrow spirits admire basely, and | |
worship meanly.—Thackeray. | |
You may depend upon it that he is a good | |
man whose Intimate friends are all good.— | |
Lavater. | |
Associate with men of good judgment; for | |
judgment is found in conversation. And we | |
make another man’s judgment ours by frequent- | |
ing his company.—Fuller. | |
Choose the company of your superiors, | |
whenever you can have it; that is the right and | |
true pride.— Chesterjield. \ | |
Be not deceived : evil communications cor- | |
rupt good manners.— Bible. | |
When we live habitually with the wicked, | |
we become necessarily either their victim or | |
their disciple; when we associate, on the con- | |
trary, with virtnous men, we form ourselves in | |
imitation of their virtues, or, at least, lose every | |
day something of our fanlts.—<Ayapet. | |
No man can be provident of his time, who | |
is not prudent in the choice of his company.— | |
‘ Jeremy Tuylor. | |
A frequent intercourse and intimate connec- | |
tion between two persons make them so like, | |
that not only their dispositions are moulded | |
like each other, but their very face and tone of | |
voice contract a certain analogy.—Luvater. | |
No man ean possibly improve in any com- | |
pany for which he has not respect enongh to | |
be nnder some degree of restraint.— Chesterfield, | |
Company, villanons company, hath been | |
the spoil of ne.— Shakespeare. | |
What is companionship where nothing that | |
improves the intellect is communicated, and | |
where the larger heart contracts itself to the | |
model and dimension of the smaller ?—Landor. | |
In all societies, it is advisable to asséciate if | |
possible with the highest; not that the highest | |
are always the best, but because, if disgusted | |
there, we can at any time descend; but if we | |
begin with the lowest, to ascend is Impossible.— | |
Colton. | |
Tt is mect that noble minds keep ever with | |
their likes; for who so firm, that cannot be | |
seduced ?—Shakespeare. | |
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ASSOCIATION. | |
37 | |
ASTRONOMY. | |
. No company is. far preferable to lad, be- | |
cause we-ure more apt.to eatch the vices of | |
others than their virtues, ‘as disease is fur more | |
contagious than health.— Colton. | |
Even -a high dome ‘and the expansive in- | |
terior of a cathedral have a sensible eiflect upon | |
manners. I have heard that sti? people lose | |
some of their awkwardness under high ceilings. | |
_ Lvmerson. | |
_ ‘Phere-are like to be short graces where the | |
devil plays host —Lamb. How we delight to build ont recollections | |
- upon some hasis of reality, —~ a place, a country, | |
Bad company is like.a nail driven into-a i local habitation !, how the events of life, as we | |
post, which,. after the first, and second blow, #look back upon them, lave grown into the well- | |
may be drawn ont with litte difliculty; but! remembered background of the places where | |
being once driven up to the head, the pincers | they fell upon us! Here is some suum garden | |
camot take hold to draw it out, bit which} or summer tanec, beautificd and canonized for- | |
can only he done by the destruction of the ever with the flvod of a’great joy ; and here ure | |
wool, St, Augustine. | |
It is best to be with those in time that we | |
hope to be with in cternity.—Fuller. | |
Nothing is more deeply punished than the | |
neglect of the afinities by which alone society | |
should be. formed, ‘and the insane levity of | |
choosing assoviates by others’ eyes.—Emerson, | |
A companion that feasts the company with | |
wit and mirth, and Icaves out the sin which is | |
usually mixed with them, he is the man ;-and | |
let me tell you, good company and good dis- | |
course are the very sinews of virtue. — | |
zuak Walton. | |
Costly followers are not to be liked; lest | |
while aman maketh his train longer, he make | |
his wings shorter.— Bacon. | |
~ Constant companionship is not enjoyable, | |
any more than constant cating. We sit too | |
long at the table of friendship, when we outsit: | |
our:appetites tur each other's thoughts.—Dovee, | |
The company in. which you will improve | |
most will be least expensive to yon.— | |
Washington. | |
We gain. nothing by being with such as | |
ourselves. We encourage one another in meti- | |
ocrity. I am always longing to be with men | |
more excellent than myselli—Lamb. | |
It is good discretion not to make too much | |
of any man at the first; hecanse one cannot | |
hold out that proportion.— Bacon. | |
It is certain that either wise bearing or, | |
ignorant carriage is caught, as men take | |
diseases, one of another; therefore let men | |
take heed of their company.—Shakespeure. | |
7 | |
ASSOCIATION. _ | |
‘Association is the delight of the heart, not | |
less than of poctry., Alison observes that an | |
autumn. sunset, with its crimson clouds, glim- | |
meriig trunks of trees, and wavering tintsmpon | |
the grass, secms searecly-eapable of einbellish- | |
macnt. But if in this calm and beautiful glow | |
dim aid silent places, — rooms always shadowed | |
and dark to us, whatever they may be to others, | |
— where distress or death came once,-and. since | |
then dweils forevermore.— Washington Irving. | |
I have only to take up this, or this, to ood | |
my brain with memories.—Vadame Deluzy. | |
There is no man who has not some interest- | |
ing associations with particular scenes, or airs, | |
or books, and who does not feel their beauty or | |
sublimity enhanced to him by such connections. | |
Sir A. Alison. | |
He whose heart is not excited upon the.spot | |
which a martyr has sanctified by lis sufferings, | |
or at the grave of one who has largely benefited | |
mankind, must be more inferior to the multi- | |
tude in his moral, than he can possibly be | |
raised above them in his intellectual nature.— | |
Southey. | |
That man is little to be envied whose patri- | |
otism would not gain force upon the plain of | |
Marathon, or whose piety wonld not grow | |
ASSURANCE. | |
warmer among the ruins of Iona.—Johnson. | |
Immoterate assurance is perfect licentious- | |
ness.—-Shenstone. | |
Assurance and intrepidity, under the white | |
banner of sceming modesty, clear the way to | |
merit that would otherwise be. discouraged by | |
difficultics.— Chesterfield. | |
Assurance never failed to get admission into | |
| the houses of the great.—Jleure. - | |
ASTRONOMY. | |
| Astronomy is one of the sublimest ficlds of | |
himan investigation. The mind that grmsps | |
| its facts and principles receives something of the | |
enlargement and grandeur belonging to the | |
science itself. It is a quickener of devotion.— | |
Horace Mann. | |
Astronomy is the science of the harmony of | |
infiniteexpanse.—Lord John Russell. | |
The contemplation of celestial things will | |
the chime of a distant bell steal over- the: fields, ' make a man both’-speak and think more sub- | |
the bosom. heaves with the sensation that Dante limely;and magnificently when he descends to | |
so tenderly ‘deseribes.— | eldmett. ‘human affairs.— Cicero. | |
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ATHEISM. | |
38 | |
AUTHORITY. | |
The narrow sectarian cannot read! astron- | |
omy with impunity. The creeds-of his church | |
shrivel like dried leaves at the door of the obser- | |
vatory.—Emerson. ’ | |
An.undevout astronomer is mad.— Young. | |
ATHEISM. ; | |
There is no being eloquent for atheism. In | |
that exhansted receiver the mind cannot use its | |
wings, — the elearest proof that it is out of its | |
element.—LZare. | |
Settle it, therefore, in your minds, as a maxim | |
nevér to be effaced or forgotten, that atheism is | |
an inhuman, bloody, ferucions system, equally | |
hostile to every useful restraint, and to every | |
virtuous affection; that leaving nothing above | |
us to excite awe, nor round us to awaken ten- | |
derness, it wages war with heaven and earth: | |
its first object is to dethrone God, its next to | |
destroy man.—Robert Hall. | |
No atheist,‘as snch, can be a true friend, an | |
affectionate relation, or a loyal subject.— | |
Bentley. | |
Whoever considers the study of anatomy, I | |
believe, will never be an atheist; the frame of | |
man’s body, and coherence of his parts, being | |
so strange and paradoxical, that I hold it to be | |
the greatest miracle of nature.—Lord Herbert. | |
The great atheists are, indeed, the hypocrites, | |
which are ever handling holy things, but | |
withont feeling ; so as they must need be cau- | |
terized in the end.— Bacon. | |
The owlet atheism, sailing on obscene wings | |
across the noon, drops his blue-fringed lids, and | |
shuts them close, and, hooting at the glorions | |
sun in heaven, cries out, “ Where Is it ?”” — | |
Coleridge. | |
A little philosophy inclineth man’s mind to | |
atheism, but depth in philosophy bringeth men’s | |
minds about to religion. — Bacon. | |
T shonld like to see a man sober in his habits, | |
moderate, chaste, just in his dealings, assert that | |
there is no God; he wonld speak at least with- | |
out interested motives; but such a man is not | |
to be found.—Bruyere. | |
Atheism is rather in the life than in the | |
heart of man.—Bacon. | |
One wonld fancy that the zealots in atheism | |
would be exempt from the single fanlt which | |
scems to grow out of the imprudent fervor of | |
religion. But so it is, that irreligion is propa- | |
gated with as mnceh fierceness and contention, | |
wrath and indignation, as if the safety of man- | |
kind depended upon it.— Addison. | |
The statements of atheists ought to be per- | |
fectly clear of donbt. Now it is not perfectly | |
clear that the soul is material —Pascal. | |
The three great apostles of practical atheism, | |
that make converts without persecuting, and | |
retain them without preaching, are wealth, | |
health, and power.— Colton. | |
Thank Heaven, tht female heart is unten- | |
antable by athcismu.—Zforace Mana, | |
Atheism is the result of ignoranceand pride, | |
of strong sense and fecble reasons, of good eat- | |
ing 'and ill-living. It is the plague of society, | |
the corrupter of manuers,‘and the underminer | |
of property.—Jeremy Collier. | |
By night an atheist half believes a God.— | |
Young. | |
Atheism is a system which can conmunicate | |
neither warmth nor illumination, except from | |
those fagots which your mistaken zeal has | |
lighted up for its destrnction.— Colton. | |
An atheist’s laugh is a poor exchange for | |
Deity, offended.— Burns. | |
Supposing all the great points of atheism | |
were formed into a kind of ereed, I would fain | |
ask whether it would not require an infinite | |
greater measure of faith than any set of articles | |
which they so violently oppose.—Addison. | |
The fool hath said ia his heart, There is no | |
God. They are corrupt ; they have done abom- | |
inable works.— Bible. | |
The footprint of the savage traced in the | |
sand is sufficient to attest the presence of man | |
to the atheist who will not recognize God, | |
whose hand is impressed upon the entire uni- | |
verse.—Llugh Miller. | |
There are few men so obstinate in their | |
atheism whom a pressing danger will not re- | |
duce to an acknowledgment of the divine power. | |
Plato. | |
ATTENTION. | |
Attention makes the genins; all learning, | |
fancy, and science depend upon it. Newton | |
traced back his discoveries to its unwearied | |
employment. It builds bridges, opens new | |
worlds, and heals diseases; without it taste is | |
useless, and the beauties of literature are unob- | |
served.— IWVillmott. | |
AUSTERITY. | |
Manners more reserved and harsh, less com- | |
plaisant and frank, only serve to give a false | |
idea of piety to the people of the world, who | |
are already but too much prejudiced against it, | |
and who believe that we cannot serve God but | |
by amelancholy and austere life. Let us go on | |
‘our way in the simplicity of our hearts, with | |
the peace and joy that are the frnits of the | |
Holy Spirit.—#enelon. | |
AUTHORITY. | |
Nothing is more gratifving. to the mind of | |
man than power or duminion.— Addison. | |
--- Chunk 1, Page 57 --- | |
AUTHORS. | |
Though Authority be a stubborn bear, yet | |
he is oft led by: the nose with gold. | |
Shakespeare. | |
Meek young men grow up in libraries, he- | |
lieving it “their | duty to accept the views which | |
Cicero, which Locke, which Bacon, have given ; | |
forgetful that Cicero, Locke, and Bacon were | |
only young men in libraries when they wrote | |
these books.—merson. | |
Authority, thongh it err. like others, hath | |
yet a kind of medicine in itself, that skins the | |
vice of the top.—Shakespeare. | |
There is nothing sooner overthrows a weak | |
head than opition of anthority ; like too strong | |
a liquor for a frail glass.— Sir Pz Sidney. | |
Man, proud man! dressed in a little brief | |
authority 5 most ignorant of what he’s most | |
assured, his glassy essence, —like au angry ape | |
plays such fantaste tricks hefore high heaven | |
as wake the angels weep.— Shakespeare. | |
AUTHORS. | |
People may be taken in once, who imagine | |
that an author is greater in private life than | |
other men.—Johnson. | |
Professed anthors who overestimate their | |
vocation are too full of themselves to be agree- | |
able companions. The demands of their ego- | |
tism are inveterate. They secm to be incapable | | |
of that abandon which is the requisite condition | |
af social pleasnre ; and bent upon winning a |, | |
tribute of admiration, or some huit which they} | |
ean tnrn to the account of pen-craft, there is | |
seldom in their company any of the Aclightful | | |
nnconscionsness which harmonizes a cirele.- 4. | |
Tuckerman. | |
Nature’s chief materia is writing well. — | |
Sheffield, f Duke of Buckingham. | |
There is no author so poor who cannot be | |
of some service, if only for a witness of his | |
time.— Claude Fauchet. | |
The success of many works is found in the, | |
relation between the mediocrity of the authors’ | |
ideas and that of the ideas of the public.— | |
Chamfort. | | |
Authors are the vanguard in the march of. | |
mind, the inteltectnal backwoodsinen, reclaim | | |
ing from the idle wilderness new territories for | |
thé thought-and activity of their happier breth- | |
ren.—Carlyle. | |
It is quite as much of a trade to make a | |
book as to, make a clock. It requires more | |
than mere-genius to be an anthor.—Druyeére. | |
Our writings are so many dishes, our readers | |
guests, our books like beauty; tliat whicli one | |
admires another rejects ; so are we approved as | |
men’s fincies are inclined. — Burton. | |
39 | |
AUTHORS. | |
One hates an author that is all author; fel- | |
lows in foolseap uniform turned up with ink.— | |
. 1 Byron. | |
‘ Whoever has set his whole heart upon book- | |
making had better be songht in his works, for | |
it is only the lees of his cup of life which ha | |
offers, in person, to the warm lips of his fellows. | |
Luckerman. | |
The motives and purposes of authors are not | |
always so pure.and high as, in the enthusiasin | |
of youth, we sometimes imagine.—Longsellow. | |
The: wonderful fortune of some writers de- | |
Indes and leads to misery a great number of | |
young people. _Ft cannot be too often repeated | |
that it is dangerous to enter upon a career of | |
letters without some other means of living. An | |
illustrious author has said in these times, “ Lit- | |
erature must not be leant on-as upon a crutch ; | |
it is lithe more than @ stick. J. Petit, Senn. | |
The familiar writer is apt to be his own | |
satirist. Out of his own mouth is he judged.— | |
Whipple. | |
The faults of a brilliant writer are never | |
dangerous on the long run; a thousand people | |
read his work who would read no other ; in- | |
quiry is directed to each of his doctrines ; it is | |
soon discovered what is sound and what is | |
false; the sonnd become maxims,-and the false | |
beacons.—Bulwer Lytton. | |
The two most engaging powers of an author | |
are to make new things familiar, and familiar | |
things new.— 7 "hackeray. | |
Those authors into whose hands nature has | |
placed a magic wand, with which they no soon- | |
er touch us than we forget the unhappiness in | |
life, than the darkness Teaw es our soul, and wo | |
are reconciled to existence, should be placed | |
among the benefactors of the human race.— | |
Diderot. | |
A man is, I susgect, but of a second-rate | |
order whos¢ genius is not immeasurably above | |
his works.—Bulwer Lytton. | |
Tt is a doubt whether mankind are most in- | |
debted to those who, like Bacon and Butler, | |
dig the gold from the mine of literature, or to | |
those, who, like Paley, purify it, stump it, fix its | |
real value, and give it currency “and utility. — | |
Colton. | |
We write from aspiration and antagonism, | |
as well as from experience. We paint those | |
qualities which we do not possess.—/smerson. | |
None -bat an author knows au author’s | |
cares. — Cowper. | |
To have invented that character (Fielding’s | |
Amelia), is not-only a trinmph of art, but it is | |
ha good action. — Thackeray. | |
--- Chunk 1, Page 58 --- | |
AUTHORS. | |
40 | |
AUTHORS. | |
I believe that there is much less difference | |
between the anthor ‘and his works than is cur- | |
rently supposed ; it is usually in the physical | |
appearance of the writer, —his manners, his | |
mien, his extcrior,— that he falls short of the | |
ideal a reasonable inan forms of him — rarely | |
in his mind.—Bulwer Lytton. | |
The anthors who affect contempt for a name | |
in the world put their names to the: books | |
which they invite the world’to read.— Cicero. | |
Dr. Johnson has said that the chief glory of | |
@ country arises from its anthors. But then | |
that is only.as they are oracles of wisdom ; un- | |
less they teach virtue, they are more worthy of | |
a halter than of the laurcl.—Jane Porter. | |
Nothing is so beneficial to-a young author | |
‘as the advice of a man whose judgment stands | |
constitutionally at the freezing-point.— | |
Douglas Jerrold: | |
That:an author’s work.is the mirror of his | |
mind is a position that has led to very false | |
conclusions. If Satan himself were to write a | |
book it would be in praise of virtue, because the | |
.good would purchase it for use, and the bad for | |
ostentation.— Colton. | |
Authors, like coins, grow dear Jas they grow | |
old.— Pope. | |
To write well is to think well, to feel well, | |
and to render well; it is to possess at once in- | |
tellect, soul, and taste—Bujfon. | |
We may observe in humorous authors that | |
the fits they chiefly ridicule have often a like- | |
ness in themselves. Cervantes had much of the | |
knight-crrant in him; Sir George Etherege was | |
anconsciously the Fopling Flutter of his own | |
satire; Goldsmith was the same hero to cham- | |
bermaids, and coward to ladies that he has im- | |
mortalized in his ‘charming comedy; and the | |
antiquarian frivolities of Jonathan Oldbuck | |
had their resemblance in Jonathan Oldbuck’s | |
creator.—Bulwer Lytton. | |
He who purposes to be an anthor should | |
first be a student.—Dryden. | |
Never write on a subject without having | |
first read yourself full on it; and never read on | |
a subject till you have thought yourself hungry | |
on it.—Richter. | |
A writer who attempts to live on the manu- | |
facture of his imagination is continually coquet- | |
ting with starvation.— Whipple. | |
There are three difficultics in authorship, — | |
to write anything worth the publishing, to find | |
honest men to publish it, and to get sensible | |
men to read it.—Colton. | |
Young authors give their brains much exer- | |
cise and little feod.—foubert. | |
There is infinite pathos in unsuccessful an- | |
thorship.. The book that perishes unread is | |
the deaf inute of literature.—Holmes. | |
It is in vain a daving author thinks of attain- | |
ing to the heights of Parnassus if he does not | |
fee] the ‘secret influence of heaven and if his | |
uatal star has not formed him to be a poet.— | |
Boilean. | |
Never write anything that does not give you | |
great pleasure; emotion is casily propagated | |
\'from the writer to the reader.—Joubert. | |
Certain I am that, every author who has | |
written a book with earnest forethought and | |
fondly cherished designs will beat testimony to | |
the fact that much which he meant to convey | |
has never been guessed at in any review of his | |
work; and many a delicate beauty of thought, | |
on which he principally valued himself, remains, | |
like the statue of Isis, an innage of truth from | |
which no hand lifts the veil— Bulwer Lytton. | |
_ _Of.all unfortunate men one of the unhappicst | |
isa middling author endowed with too lively a | |
sensibility for criticisin.— Disraeli. | |
How kind the “ Critical Notices ” — where | |
small authorship comes to pick up chips of | |
praise, fragrant, sugary, and sappy — always | |
‘are to them! Well, life would be nothing with- | |
out paper ercdit and other fictions ; so let them | |
pass current.—Z7olmes. | |
Friend, howsoever thon camest by this book; | |
I will assure thee thon wert least in my thoughts | |
when I writ it— Bunyan. | |
This is the highest miracle of genius, that | |
things which are not should be as thongh they | |
j were, that the imaginations of one mind should | |
become the persona} recollections of another.— | |
Alacaulay. | |
Clear writers, like clear fountains, do not | |
seem so deep as they-are: the turbid look the | |
most profound.—Landor. | |
O thon who art able to write a book, which | |
once in the two centuries or oftener there is a | |
man gifted to do, envy not him whom they | |
name city-builder, and inexpressibly pity him | |
whom they name conqueror or city-burner.— | |
Carlyle. | |
So idleZare dull readers, and so industrious | |
are dull’ authors, that puffed nonsense bids fair | |
to blow unputfed sense wholly out of the fice | |
otton. | |
The triumphs of the warrior are bounded | |
by the narrow theatre of his own age; but those | |
of a Scott or a Shakespeare will be renewed with | |
greater and greater lustre in ages yet unborn, | |
when the victorions chieftain shall be forgotten, | |
or shall live only in the song of the minstrel | |
and the page of the chronicler —Prescott. - | |
--- Chunk 1, Page 59 --- | |
AUTHORS ’ | |
41 | |
AUTUMN. | |
The little mind who loves itself, will write | |
and think with the vale: | |
will be bravely eccentric, and scorn the beaten | |
road, from universal benevolence.— Goldsmith. | |
There is nothing more dreadfil to an au- | |
thor than neglect; compared with which, re- | |
proach. hatred, "and opposition are names of | |
This is the magnanimity of anthorship, | |
ry; but the great mind j when a writer having a tepic presented to him, | |
fruitful of beauties for commun minds, waives | |
‘his privilege, aud trusts to the judicions few for | |
understanding the reason of his abstinence. — | |
Lamb, | |
Wonld a-writer know how to behave him- | |
hppiness; yet this worst, this meanest fate, | self with rekttion to posterity? Let him con- | |
every onc who dares to write has reason to fear.— , sider in old books what hie finds that he is | |
Johuson. | to know, and what omissions he most laments.— | |
Byery fool describes in these bright days | |
his wondrous journey to some forcign court, | |
and spawns his quarto, and demands your | droll. | |
praise.— Byron. | |
Swift. | |
Be very careful how yon tell an author he is | |
Ten to one he will hate you; and if | |
he does, be sure he can do you a mischief, and | |
very probably, will, “Say you cried over his | |
From the moment one scts up for an-anthor, | romance or hts verses, and he will Jove you and | |
one must be treated as eeremoniously, that is as; send you a copy. | |
You can Idugh over that as | |
unfaithfully, “as a king’s favorite or a king.”— | much as you like, ~ in private.—Lfolmes. | |
ope. | |
To expect an author to talk as he writes is | |
I have observed that vulgar readers almost | ridienlous ; or even i he did you would find | |
always lose their veneration for the writings | fanlt with him-as a pedant.—J/uzlitt. | |
of the genius with whom they have had per- | |
sonal intercourse.—Sir Egerton Brydyes. | |
For popular purposes, at least, the aim of | |
literary artists should be similar to that of | |
There is a natural disposition with us to! Rubens in his kurdscapes, of which, without | |
judge an anthor’s personal character by the | |
character of his works. We find it difficult to | |
understand the common antithesis of-a-good | |
writer and a bad man.— Whipple. | |
Satire lies respecting literary men during | |
their life, and eulogy does so after their death._— | |
. Voliaire. | |
Authorship is, according to the spirit in | |
which it is pursned, an infamy, a pastime, a | |
day-labor, a handicraft, ‘an art, a scicnce, a vir- | |
tue.— Schlegel. | |
Peacé be with the sont of that charitable | |
and ¢onrteons author, who, for the common | |
benefit of his fetlow-anthors, introduecd the | |
ingenious way of miscellancon$ writing !— | |
Shaftesbury. | |
The wickedness of a loose or profane author, | |
in his writings, is more atrocious than that of | |
the giddy libertine or drunken ravisher ; not, | |
only -beeanse it extends its effects wider (as a: | |
pestilence that taints the air is more destructive’ | |
than poison infased ina dranght), bnt because | |
it is committed with cool deliberation.— | |
Johnson. | |
One writer excels at a plan or a title-page; | |
another works ‘away at the body of the book, | |
vand a tinrd is a dab hand at an index.— | |
Goldsmith. | |
Spero Speroni explains admirably how ‘an | |
author who writes v | |
often obsenre to his readers. | |
to the expression, and the reader from the ¢x- | |
pression to the thought.”—Chav/fort. | |
neglecting the minor traits or finishing, he was | |
chiefly solivitons to present the lending effect, or | |
what we may call the inspiration.— | |
W. B. Clulow. | |
No fathers or mothers think their own chil- | |
dren ugly; and this selfleecit is yet stronger | |
with respect to the offspring of the mind.— | |
Cervantes. | |
Every author, indeed, who really influences | |
the mind,-who plants in it thonghts aud senti- | |
ments which take root and grow, communicates | |
hi’ character. Error and immorality, — two | |
words for one thing, for error is the iumorality | |
of the intellect, and immorality the error of the | |
heart, —these escape from’ him if they are in | |
him;‘and pass into the recipient mind through | |
subtle avenues invisible to consciousness.— | |
Whipple. | |
The most original modern “authors are not | |
80 beeanse they advance what is new, but sim- | |
-ply becanse they know how to put what they | |
have to say as if it had never been said before.— | |
~ Gecthe. | |
A man of letters is often a man with two | |
natures, — one # book nature, the other a hu- | |
inan nature. These often chtsh sadly.— | |
- Whipple. | |
AUTUMN. | |
A moral character is attached to autumnal | |
scenes; the leaves falling like our the | |
flowers fading like our hours, the clends fleet. | |
elearly_for himself is{ing like onr ilInsions, the Hght diminishing | |
“Ft is,’ he says,/ like onr intelligence, the sun growing | |
“because the author proceeds from the thonght'! like our affections, the rivers becoming | |
colder | |
frozen | |
like our lives, — all bear scerct relations to our | |
destinies.— Chateaubriand.~ | |
--- Chunk 1, Page 60 --- | |
AVARICE | |
42. | |
AVARICE. | |
All-cheering Plenty, with her flowing horn, | |
led yellow Autumn, wreathed with nodding | |
corn.— Burns. | |
As fall the light autumnal leaves, one still | |
the other following, till the bough strews all its | |
honors.—Dante. | |
Antumn nodding o’er the yellow plain.— | |
Z homson. | |
Who is there who, at this season, does not | |
fecl his mind impressed with a sentiment of | |
melancholy ¢ or who is able to resist that cur- | |
rent of thought, which, from such appearances | |
of decay, so naturally leads him-to. the ‘solemn | |
imagination of that inevitable fate which is to | |
bring on alike the decay of life, of empire, and | |
of nature itself ?—Sir A. Alison. | |
Wild is the imusic of autnmnal winds | |
amongst the faded woods.— Wordsworth. | |
The year growing ancient, not yet on sum- | |
mer’s death, nor on the birth of trembling win- | |
ter.— Shakespeare. | |
However constant the visitations of sickness | |
and hereavement, the fall of the year is most | |
thickly strewn with the fall of ‘human life. | |
Everywhere the spirit of some sad power seems | |
to direct the time; it hides from us the blac | |
heavens, it makes the green wave turbid; it | |
walks throngh the fields, and lays the damp | |
ungathered harvest low; it eries out in the | |
night wind and the shrill hail; it steals the | |
summer bloom from the infant cheek ; it makes | |
eld age shiver to the heart; it goes to the | |
churchyard, and chooses many a grave.— | |
James sMartineau. | |
The melancholy days are come, the saddest | |
of the year.— Bryant. | |
The teeming autumn, big with rich increase, | |
bearing the wanton burden of the prime.— | |
Shakespeare. | |
AVARICE. | |
The lust of avarice has so totally seized | |
upon mankind “that their wealth seems rather | |
to possess them than they possess their wealth.— | |
Pliny. | |
We are at best but stewards of what we | |
falsel¥ call our own; yet avarice is so insati- | |
able that it is not in the power of liberality to | |
content it.—Seneca. ; | |
This avarice sticks deeper ; grows with more | |
pernicious root than summer-seeding Inst.— | |
Shakespeare. | |
Objects close to the eye shnt out much | |
larger objects on the horizon; and splendors | |
born only of the earth eclipse the stars. So | |
& man sometimes covers up the entire disc of | |
eternity with a dollar, and quenches transcen- | |
dent glories with a little shining dust.— Chapin. | |
It is surely very narrow policy that supposes | |
money to be the chief good.— Johnson. | |
Had covetous men, as the fable goes of | |
Briarens, each of them one hundred hands, | |
they would all of them be employed in grasp- | |
ing and gathering, and hardly one of them in | |
giving or laying out, but all in receiving, and | |
none in restoring; a thing in itself so mon- | |
strous, that nothing in nature besides is like it, | |
except it be death and the grave,— the only | |
things I know which are always carrying off | |
the spoils of the world, and never making res- | |
titution. For otherwise all the parts of the | |
universe, as they borrow of one another, so | |
they still pay-what they borrow, and that by so | |
just and well-balanced an equality that their | |
payments always:keep pace with their receipts.— | |
Dryden. | |
Avarice is more opposite to economy than | |
liberality.— Rochefoucauld. | |
Many have been ruined by their fortunes; | |
many have escaped ruin by the want of fortune. | |
To obtain it, the great have become little, and | |
the little great.—Ziminermann. | |
How quickly nature falls into revolt when | |
gold becomes her object !— Shakespeare. | |
There are two considerations which always | |
imbitter the heart of an avaricious man, — the | |
one is a perpetual thirst after more riches, | |
the other the prospect of leaving what he has | |
already acquired.—Fielding. . | |
A captive fettered at the oar of gain.— | |
“alconer. | |
He who is always in a hurry to be wealthy | |
and immersed in the study of angmenting his | |
fortune, has lost the arms of reason and de- | |
serted the post of virtue.—Z/orace. : | |
Avarice increases with the increasing pile of | |
gold.—Juvenal. | |
Some men are called sagacious, merely on | |
account of their avarice; whereas a child can | |
clench its fist the moment it is born —Shenstone. | |
Poverty is in want of much, but avarice of | |
everything.—Publius Syrus. | |
Parsimony is enough to make the master of | |
the golden mines as poor-as he that has noth- | |
ing; for aman may be, brought to « morsel of | |
bread by parsimony as well as profusion — , | |
Henry Lome, | |
Avarice is the miser’s dream, as fame 1s the | |
poct’s.—iZaclitt. | |
Because men believe not Providence, there- | |
fore they do so greedily serape and hoard. | |
They do not believe any reward for charity, | |
therefore they will part with nothing —Barrow. | |
--- Chunk 1, Page 61 --- | |
AVARICE. | |
Tt may be remarked, for the comfort of hon- | |
est poverty, that avarice reigns imost in those | |
who have but few ggod qualities to recommend | |
them. ‘This isa weed that will grow only in,a | |
barren soil.—Z//aghes. | |
Study rather to fill your mind than«your | |
collers; " knowing that, gold and silver were | |
originally mingted with dirt, until avarice or | |
“ambition parted them.—Seneca. | |
For the love of money is the root ofall evil. | |
Bible. | |
When a miser contents himself with giving | |
nothing, and saving what he has got, and is.in | |
other respects guilty of no injustice, le is, per- | |
haps, of all bad men the least injurions to | |
sovicty; the evil he dues is properly nothing | |
more than the omissiun of the good he might | |
do. If, of all the vices, avarice is the most | |
generally detested, it is the effect of an avidity | |
common to all men; it is because men hate | |
those from whom they can expect nothing. | |
The greedy misers rail at sordid misers.— | |
JTelvetius. | |
To be thankful for what we grasp excecding , | |
our proportion, is to add hypocrisy to injustice. | |
Lamb. | |
The objects of avarice and ambition differ | |
only in their greatness. A miser is as furious | |
about a halfpenny, as the man of: ambition | |
abont the conquest of a kingdom.—Adam Smith. | |
O cursed hunger of pernicious gold!—Dryden. | |
Avarice, in old age, is foolish ;'for what | |
ean be more absurd than to inerease our pro- | |
visions for the road, the nearer weapproach to | |
our journey’s end }—Cicero. | |
Avarice is the most opposite of all charac- | |
ters to that of God Almighty, whose alone it | |
is to give and not reveive.— Shenstone. | |
The avarice of the miser may be termed the | |
grand sepulchre of all his other passions, as | |
they suce ely decay. But unlike other | |
tombs, it is enlarged by repletion and strength- | |
éned by age.—Colton. | |
The avaricious man is like the barren, sandy | |
ground of the desert, which sucks in all the rain | |
nnd dews with greediness, but yields no frnitfnl | |
herbs or plants for the benefit of others.—Zeno. | |
O eursed Inst of gold! when for thy sake | |
the fool throws up his interest in both worlds, | |
— first starved in this, then damned in that to | |
eome.— Blair, | |
The character of covetousness is what a | |
man generally acquires more through ‘some | |
Aiggardliness or ill grace in little and incon- | |
AWKWARDNESS. | |
A poor spirit is poorer than a poor purse. | |
A very few pounds n year would ease aman of | |
the scandal of uvarice.—Swit, | |
extreme avarice almost-always mnkes imis- | |
takes. There is no passion that oftencr misses | |
its abu; nor on whieh the present has so much | |
influence, in prejudice of the futare.— | |
Rochefoucauld. | |
To me ‘avarice seems not.so much a-vice. as | |
a deplorable piece of madness.—~ | |
Sir Thomas Browne. | |
avarice has ruined more men than prodi- | |
gality, and the. blindest -thongh tles of ex- | |
penditure has not destroyed so many fortunes | |
as the calculating but insatiable lust of aeeumn- | |
lation.—Culton. | |
Avarice is insatiable and is always pushing | |
on for more. —L’ Lstraage. | |
Avarice begets more vices than Priam did | |
children, and hike Priam survives them all. It | |
starves its keeper to surleit those who wish him | |
dead, and inakes him submit to more mortifi- | |
cations to lose heaven than the martyr under- | |
goes to gain it.— Colton. | |
In plain trnth, it is not want, bnt rather | |
abundance, that creates avarice.—Afontaigue. | |
Ayvarice often produces opposite effects ; there | |
is an infinite number of people who sacrifice “ull | |
their property to donbtfal and distant expecta- | |
tions ; others despise great future advantages to | |
obtain present interests of a trifling nature.— | |
- Rochefoucauld. | |
It is one of the worst effeets of prosperity to | |
make @ man a Vortex instead of a fountain; so | |
that, instead of throwing out, he learns only to | |
draw in.—Beecher. | |
Poverty wants some, Inxury many, and ay- | |
arice all things.—Cowley. | |
Avarice is a uniform and_ tractable viee; | |
other intellectual distempers are different in dif- | |
ferent eoustitutions of mind. Tat which soothes | |
the pride of one will offend the pride of anoth- | |
er; but to the favor of the covetous bring | |
money, and nothing is denied.— Johnson. | |
Avarice is to the intellect what sensuality is | |
to the inorals.—2/rs. ./ameson. | |
All the good things of this world are no | |
further good tous than as they are of nse; and | |
whatever we may hep up to give to others, we | |
enjoy only as mach as we can use, and no more. | |
= De Foe. | |
AWKWARDNESS. | |
Awkwardness is:a more real disadvantage | |
than i¢ is generally thonght to be; it often | |
siderable things, than in expenses of any von-j occasions ridicule, it always lessens dignity.— | |
sequence.— Pope, | |
Chesterfield. | |
--- Chunk 1, Page 62 --- | |
BABE. 44, BASHFULNESS. | |
BABE. a A man mnattached and without wife, if he | |
_ At fs well for us that we are born babies in have‘any genius at all, may raise himself above | |
intellect. Could we inderstand half what | |
mothers say and do to their infants, we should | |
be filled with a conceit of our own importance, | |
which wonld render us insupportable through | |
life. Happy the buy whose mother is tired of | |
talking nonsense to him before he is old cnough | |
to know the sense of it—fare. | |
A babe is a mother’s anchor.— Beecher. | |
A babe in a house is a well-spring of pleas- | |
ure, a messenger of peace and love, a resting- | |
place for innocence on earth, a link between | |
angels ‘and men.— Tupper. | |
The coarsest father gains a new impulse to | |
labor from the moment of his baby’s birth; he | |
scarecly sees it when awake, and yet-it is with | |
him all the time. Every stroke he strikes is for | |
his child. New social aims, new moral mo- | |
tives, come vagucly up tu him.—Z. JV. Higginson. | |
A sweet new blossom of humanity, fresh | |
fallen from God’s own home to flower on carth.— | |
Gerald Massey. | |
Welcome to the parents -the pny struggler, | |
strong in his weakness, his little arms more ir- | |
yexistible than the soldier’s, his lips touched | |
with persuasion which Chatham and Pericles in | |
manhood had not. His unaflected lamentations | |
wheu he lifts up his voice on high, or, more | |
beautifid, the sobbing child, — the fice all liquid | |
gricf, as he tries to swallow his vexation, — | |
soften all hearts to pity’and to mirthful and | |
clamorous compassion.— Emerson. | |
Fragile beginnings of a mighty end.— | |
° ~ ° id Mrs. Norton. | |
Those who have lost an infant.are never, as | |
it were, without an infant child. “Their other | |
children grow up to manhood and womanhood, | |
and suffer al] the changes of mortality; but | |
this one alone is rendered an immortal child; | |
for death has arrested it with his kindly harsh- | |
ness, and blessed it into an eternal image of | |
youth and innocence.—Leigh fZunt. | |
+ Good Christian people, here lies for you-an | |
inestimable loan;— take all heed thereof, in | |
all carefulness employ it;— with high recom- | |
pense, or else with heavy penalty will it one | |
day be required back,—-Carlyle. | |
Of all the joys that brighten suffering earth, | |
what joy is welcomed like a new-born child 2— | |
: Mrs. Norton. | |
BACHELOR. | |
T have no wife or children, good or bad, to pro- | |
vide for: a mere spectator of other men’s fortunes | |
and adventures, and how they play their parts ; | |
which, methinks, are diversely presented unto me, | |
as from a common theatre or scene.— Burton. | |
his original position, may mingle with the | |
world of fashion, and hold himself on a level | |
with the highest; this is less casy for him who | |
is engaged; it seems as if marriage put the | |
whole world in their proper rank.—Bruyére. | |
BALLADS. | |
Voeal portraits of the national mind. — | |
Lamb. | |
A well-composed song strikes the mind -and | |
softens the feclings, and produces a greater | |
effect than a moral work, which convinces our | |
yeason, but does not warin our feelings, nor | |
effect the slightest-altcration in our habits.— ~ | |
Napoleon. | |
Give me the writing of the ballads, and you | |
make-the Jaws.— Fletcher of Saltoun. ~ | |
Ballads.are the gypsy childen of song, born | |
under green hedgerows, in the leafy lanes and | |
by-paths of literature, in the genial summer- | |
time.— Longfellow. | |
BARGAIN. | |
I will give thrice so mutch Jand to any-well- | |
deserving friend; but in the way of bargain, | |
mark ine, I will cavil on the ninth part of a | |
hair— Shakespeare. | |
BASENESS. | |
Every base occupation makes one sharp in | |
its practice; and dull in every other.— | |
Sir P. Sidney. | |
There is a law of neutralization of forces, | |
which hinders bodies from sinking beyond a | |
certain depth in the sea; but in the ocean of | |
baseness, the deeper we get, the easier the sink- | |
ing.— Lowell. | |
Some kinds of baseness are nobly undergone. | |
Shakespeare. | |
BASHFULNESS. | |
Conceit not so high a notion of any as to | |
be bashful and impotent in their presence.— | |
Fuller, | |
As those that pul] down private houses ad- | |
joining to the temples of the gods prop up such | |
parts as are contignous to them, so, in under- | |
mining bashfnlness, due regard is to be had to | |
adjacent modesty, good-nature, and humanity. | |
Plutarch. | |
The bashful virgin’s sidelong look of love.- | |
Goldsmith. | |
Bashfulness is more frequently connected | |
with good sense than we find assurance ; and | |
impudence, on the other hand, is often the mere | |
effect of downright stupidity.—Shenstone. | |
--- Chunk 1, Page 63 --- | |
BATTLE. | |
45 | |
BEAUTY. | |
There ‘are two distinct sorts of what we call | |
bashfilness ; this, the awkwardness ofa booby, | |
which a few steps in the world will convert into | |
the pertness of a coxcomb; that, a conscions- | |
ness which the most delicate feclings produce, | |
‘and the most extensive knowledge cannot al- | |
ways remove.—JMJackenzie. | |
Bashfulness is an ornament to youth, but a | |
reproach to old-age.—A risiotle. | |
Nor do we accept as genuine the person not | |
characterized by this blushing bashfulness, this | |
youthfulness of heart, this sensibility to the sen- | |
timent of snavity-and self-respect. Modesty is | |
bred of sclf-reverenee. Fine manners are the | |
mantle of fair minds. None are truly great | |
without this ornament.—Alcott. | |
Mere: bashfniness without merit is awk- | |
wardness.— Addison. | |
We must prune it with care, so as only to | |
remove the redundant branches, and not injure | |
the stem, which has its root in the gencrous | |
sensitiveness to shame.—Plutarch. | |
BATTLE, | |
The next dreadful thing to a battle lost is a | |
battle won.—Duke of Wellington. | |
The cannons have their bowels full of wrath ; | |
and ready mounted are they to spit forth their | |
iron indiguation against your walls.— | |
Shakespeare. | |
As well the soldier cdicth who standeth still, | |
as he that gives the bravest onset.— | |
Sir P. Sidney. | |
The fame of a battle-field grows with its | |
years ; Napoleon storming the Bridge of Lodi, | |
and Wellington surveying the towers of Sala- | |
manea, ‘affect ns with fainter emotions than | |
Bentus reading in his tent at Philippi, or Rich- | |
‘ard bearing down with the Enghsh_ chivalry | |
upon the white armies of Saladin.— Willmott. | |
Troops of heroes undistinguished dic.— | |
Addison. | |
It was a goodly sight to see_the-embattled | |
pomp, as with the step of statcliness the barbed | |
A beard like-an-artichoke, with dry shriv- | |
elled jaws.—Sheridan. | |
Ti has no bush below; inarry a litde wool, | |
as much as an unripe peach doth wear; just | |
enough to speak him drawing towards a man.— | |
Suckling. | |
Beard was never the true standard of brains. | |
fuller. | |
Ambiguons things that ape goats in their | |
visage, women in their shape.—Byron. | |
BEAU. | |
A bean is everything of a woman but the | |
sex, and nothing of a man beside it.—/Yelding. | |
BEAUTY. | |
Like other beantifn) things in this world, its | |
end (that of a shaft} is to be beantitnl; and, in | |
proportion to its beauty, it receives permission | |
to be otherwise useless. We do not blaine em- | |
cralds and rubies because we cannot make them | |
into heads of hammers.—Auskin. | |
How goodness heightens beauty !|— | |
: Hannah More. | |
There is scarcely a single‘ joy or sorrow | |
within the experience of onr fellow-creatures | |
which we have not tasted; yet the belicf in the | |
good and beautiful has never forsaken us. It | |
has been medicine to us in sickness, richness in | |
poverty, and the best part of all that ever de- | |
lighted us in health and success.—Leigh LZunt. | |
Beanty is worse than wine, it intoxicates | |
both the holder and the beholder.— Zimmermann. | |
Beauty is a fairy ; sometimes she hides her- | |
self in a flower-cup, or under a leaf, or creeps | |
into the old ivy, and plays hide-and-seek with | |
the sunbeams, or hannts some ruined spot, or | |
laughs out of a bright young face.—G. A. Sala. | |
Beauty is like an almanac; if it last'a year | |
itis well —Rev. T. Adams. | |
Gaze-not on beanty too much, lest it blast | |
thee; nor too long, lest it blind thee; nor too | |
near, lest it burn thee. If thon like it, it de- | |
eeives thee ; ifithon love it, it disturbs thee; if | |
steeds came on, to see the pennons rolling their | thou hnnt after it, it destroys thee. If virtue | |
long waves before the gale; and banners, broad | |
and bright, tossing their blazonry.—Southey. | |
When Greeks joined Greeks, then was the | |
tug of war. The labored battle sweat and con- | |
quest bled.—D. A. Lee. | |
BEARD. | |
He that hath a beard is more than a youth; | |
and he that hath none is less than a-man.— | |
; Shakespeare. | |
Such a beard as youth gone out had left in | |
ashes.— Tennyson. | |
‘accompany it, it is the heart’s paradise; if vice | |
associate it, itis the soul’s purgatory. It is the | |
wise man’s bonfire, and the fool’s furnace.— | |
Quarles. | |
In days of yore nothing was holy but the | |
beautiful.—Schiller. | |
Sometimes there‘are living beings in nature | |
as beautiful as in romance. Reality surpasses | |
imagination; and we see breathing, brighten- | |
ing, and moving before our eyes sights dearer | |
to our hearts than any we ever beheld in the | |
land of sleep.—Jane Austen. | |
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BEAUTY. | |
The rose is fair, bnt fairer we it deem for | |
that sweet odor which doth in it live | |
Shakespeare. | |
Beanty in a modest woman is like fire ata | |
distance, or like a sharp sword; neither doth | |
the one burn, nor the other wound those that | |
come not too near them.— Cervantes. | |
That is the best part of beauty which a pic- | |
ture cannot express.— Bacon. | |
Beauty has so many charms, one knows not | |
how to speak ‘against it; and when it happens | |
that a graccful figure is the habitation of a vir- | |
tuous soul, when the beauty of the face speaks | |
out the modesty and humility of the mind, and | |
the justness of the proportion raiscs our thonghts | |
up to the heart and wisdom of the great Creator, | |
something may be allowed it, ~ and something | |
to the embellishinents which set it off; and yet, | |
when the whole apology is read, it will be | |
found at last that beanty, like truth, never is so | |
glorious as when it goes the plainest.— Sterne. | |
The fringe of the garment of the Lord.— | |
- Bailey. | |
There is no more potent antidote to low sen- | |
suality than the adoration of beauty. All the | |
higher arts of design are essentially chaste, | |
without respect of the object. They pnvify the | |
thoughts, as tragedy, according to Aristotle, | |
purifies the passions.—Schicyel. | |
The very beautiful rarely love at all. Those | |
precious images are placed above the reach of | |
the passions —Landor. | |
Beauty is as summer fruits, which are easy | |
to corrupt afd cannot Iast; and for the most | |
art it makes a dissolute youth, and an age a | |
ittle out of countenance; but if it ight well, it | |
makes virtues shine and vice bblush-—-Bacon, | |
In the forming of female friendships beauty | |
seldom recommends one woman to another.— | |
Fielding. | |
Every good picture is the best of sermons | |
and lectures. The sense informs the soul. | |
‘Whatever you have, have beauty.— | |
Sydney Smith. | |
The beauty seen is partly in him who sees it. | |
Bovee. | |
O, it is the saddest of all things that even | |
one human soul should dimly perceive the | |
beauty that is ever around us, “a perpetual | |
benediction!” Nature, that great missionary | |
of the Most High, preaches to us forever in ‘all | |
tones of love, and writes truth in all colors, on | |
manzscripts illuminated with stars and flowers. | |
Mrs. L. M. Child. | |
Beanty can afford to laugh at distinctions ; | |
it is itself the greatest distinction —Bovee. | |
46 | |
BEAUTY. | |
Beauty is no local deity, like the Greek and | |
Roman gods, but omnipresent.—Bartol. | |
In the true mythology, Love is an immortal | |
child, and Beauty Jeads him as a guide; nor can | |
we express a deeper sense than when we say, | |
Beauty is the pilot of the young soul.— | |
E'merson. | |
Lovely sweetness is the noblest power of | |
woman, and is fur fitter to prevail by parley | |
than by battle —Sir P. Sidney. | |
A flower that dies when first it begins to bud. | |
Shakespeare. | |
No man receives the true culture of a man | |
in whom the sensibility to the beautiful is not | |
cherished ; and I know of no condition’ in life | |
from which it should be excluded. Of all lux- | |
uries this is cheapest and the most at hand; | |
and it seems to me to Le the most important to | |
those conditions where coarse labor tends to | |
give a grossness to the mind.—Chauning. . | |
Might but the sense of moral evil be as | |
strong in me.as is my delight in external beanty ! | |
. Dr, Arnold. | |
To cultivate the sense of the beantiful is but | |
one, and the most effectual, of the ways of culti- | |
vating an appreciation of the Divine goodness. | |
' Bovee. | |
Beauty issthe purgation of superfluities.— | |
Michael Angelo. | |
As amber attracts a straw, so does beauty | |
admiration, which only lasts while the warmth | |
coutinues ; but virtue, wisdom, goodness, and | |
real worth, like the loadstone, never lose their | |
power, These are the true graces, which, as | |
Homer feigns, are linked and tied hand in hand, | |
because it is by their influence that human | |
hearts are so firmly united to each other.— | |
Burton. | |
Beauty can give an edge to the Dluntest | |
sword.—Sir P. Sidney. | |
The beautiful is a manifestation of secret | |
laws of nature, which, but for this appearance, | |
had been forever conccaled from us.— Goethe. | |
Beauty is an all-pervading presence. It un- | |
folds.to the numberless flowers of the spring, it | |
waves in the branches of the trees and the green | |
blades of ’grass; it haunts the depths of the | |
earth and the sca, and gleams out in the hues | |
of the shell and the precious stone. And not | |
only these minute objects, but the ocean, the | |
‘mountains, the clouds, the heavens, the stars, | |
the rising and setting sun, all overflow with | |
beauty.—Channing— | |
A beautiful woman is the hell of the soul, | |
the purgatory of the purse, and the paradise of | |
the eyes.—Fontenelle. | |
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BEAUTY. | |
4 | |
~ | |
‘ BEAUTY. | |
In life, as in, art, the beautifinl moves in | |
enrves.— Bulwer Lytton, * | |
Beauty, like truth and justice, lives within | |
us; like virtue, and like ioral law, it is a com- | |
panion of the soul.—Baneroft. | |
Even virtue is more fair when it appears in | |
a beautiful person.— Firgd. | |
The useful enconrages itself; for the multi- | |
tade produce it, und no one can dispense with | |
it: the beautiful must be encouraged; for few | |
can set it forth,and many uced it.— Goethe. | |
There is nothing that makes its way more | |
directly to the soul than beauty.—aAddison. | |
The most natural beauty in the world is | |
honesty and moral truth. Tor all beauty is | |
truth, True features make the beanty of a | |
face, and tne proportions the beauty of archi- | |
tecture ;-ns true measures that of harmony-and | |
music.—Shaflesbury. | |
Beauty, — the fading rainbow’s pride.— | |
Halleck. | |
Beauty is a witch, against whose charms | |
faith melteth into blood.— Shakespeare. | |
The perception of the beautiful is gradnal, | |
and not‘a lightning. revelation ; it requires not | |
only time, but some study.— Ruffini. | |
The good is always beautiful, the beautiful | |
is good !— Whittier. | |
Tt was avery proper answer to him: who | |
‘asked why: any man should be delighted with | |
beauty, that it was a question that none’ but-a | |
blind man could ask ; since any beautiful object | |
doth so inch attract the sight of all men, that | |
it is in no man’s power not to be pleased with it. | |
Clarendon. | |
Rare is the union of beauty and virtne.— | |
Juvenal. | |
_That which ts striking and beautifnl is not | |
always good, but that which is good is always | |
beantiful.—Ninon de U’ Lnelos. | |
Beauty itself is but the sensible image of the | |
Infinite. —Banerof. ; . | |
As Congreve says, there is in true beauty | |
something which -vulgar souls cannot admire ; | |
so can no dirt or rags hide this something from | |
those souls which are not of the vulgar stamp.— | |
Fielding. | |
Beanty too rich for use, for earth too dear.— | |
Shakespeare. | |
What place is so rngged and so homely that | |
there is no beauty, if you only have a sensibility | |
to beauty ?—Beecher. ° | |
Beauty is truth, truth beauty, — that is.all ye | |
know on earth, and all ye uced to know.—Keats. | |
To make the cunning artless, tame the rude, | |
subdue the haughty, shake the undaunted son ; | |
ye’, puta bridle in the lion’s mouth, and lead | |
him forth as a domestic cnr, these are the tri- | |
umphs of atl-powerlal beauty.—/ounna Baillie. | |
The-essence-of the beautiful is unity in va- | |
riety —endelssohn. | |
Beantifinl as sweet ! and young as beautifal | | |
and softas young} and gay-as solt! fand inno- | |
cent-as gay !— Young. | |
Beauty draws us with a single hair.—Pope. | |
Beauty is the true prerogative of women, | |
‘and so peeniiarly their own, that our sex, though | |
naturally requiring another sort of feature, is | |
never in its lustre but when puerile and beard- | |
less, confused and mixed with theirs. — " | |
Montaigne. | |
. | |
Heat cannot be separated from fire, or beauty | |
from the eternal.—Dante. | |
Tf the nose of Cleopatra had been a: little | |
shorter, it would haye changed the history of | |
the world.—Paseal. | |
Thus was beanty sent from EIeayen, the love- | |
ly ministress of truth and good in this dark | |
world.—Akenside. | |
The common foible of women who have | |
been handsome: is to forget that they are no | |
longer so.— Rochefoucauld. | |
For beauty is the bait which with delight | |
doth man allure, for to enlarge his kind.— | |
Spenser. | |
Beauty is the mark God sets on virtue. | |
Every natnral-action is graceful. Every heroic | |
‘act is also decent, and causes the phice and the | |
bystanders to shine.—£merson. . | |
To give pain is the tyranny, — to make hap- | |
py, the true empire of beanty.—Sicele. | |
How much wit, good-nature, indulgences, | |
how many good offices and civilities, are required | |
among friends to accomplish in some years | |
what a lovely face or a tine hand does in a | |
minute !—Bruyére. | |
Whatever beanty may be, it has for its basis | |
order, and for its essence unity —Futher André. | |
Unity and simplicity are the two truc sources | |
of beauty.” Supreme beanty resides in God.— | |
Winekelimnann. | |
Beauty attracts us men, but if, like an armed | |
magnet, it is pointed with gold or silver beside, it | |
attracts with tenfold power.—Ztichler: | |
--- Chunk 1, Page 66 --- | |
BEAUTY. | |
48 | |
BEAUTY. | |
Affect not to despise beauty, no one is freed | |
from its dominion ; but regard it not«a pearl of | |
price, it is flecting as the bow in the clouds.— | |
; Tupper. | |
Could beauty have better commerce than | |
with honesty ¢—Shakespeare. | |
Methinks a being that is beautiful becometh | |
more so as it looks on beanty, the eternal beauty | |
of undying things.— Byron. | |
All orators are dumb when beauty pleadeth, | |
° Shakespeare. | |
Beauty is only truly irresistible when it | |
shows us something less transitory than itself, | |
when it makes us dream of that which charms | |
life beyond the fugitive moment which scduces | |
us; it is necessary for the soul to feel it when | |
the senses have perecived it. | |
wearies; the more it admires, the more it is | |
exalted.—ALadame de Krudener. | |
Trust not too much to an enchanting face.— | |
Virgil. | |
Every trait of beauty may be referred to | |
some virtue, as to innocence, candor, generosity, | |
modesty, and heroism.—Si. Pierre. | |
Beauty is bought by judgment of the eye, | |
not uttered by base sale of chapmen’s tongues. | |
Shakespeare. | |
An Indian philosopher, being asked what | |
were, according to his opinion, the two most | |
beautifui things in the universe, answered: The | |
starry heavens above our heads, and the feeling | |
of duty in our hearts.—Bossuet. | |
Beauty’s tears are lovelier than her smiles.— | |
Campbell. | |
Where the mouth is sweet and the eyes in- | |
telligent, there is always the look of beanty, with | |
a right heart—Leigh Hunt. | |
The soul, by an instinct stronger than rea- | |
son, ever associates beanty with truth.— | |
Tuckerman. | |
The divine right of beauty is the only divine | |
right 2 man can acknowledge, and a pretty wo- | |
man the only tyrant he is not authorized to re- | |
sist.— Junius. | |
Beauty ! thou pretty plaything! dear deceit! | |
Blair. | |
The sense of beauty is intuitive, and beauty | |
itself is all that inspires pleasure without, and | |
aloof from, and even contrarily to interest-— - | |
Coleridge. | |
If thou marry beanty, thon bindest thyself | |
all thy life for that which, perchance, will nei- | |
ther last nor please thee one year.—Raleigh. | |
The soul never | | |
| Loveliness needs not the foreign aid of orna- | |
ment; but is, when unadorned, adorned the | |
| most.— Thomson. | |
Beauty lives with kindness.— Shakespeare. | |
Beauty is a great gift of Heaven; not for | |
the purpose of female vanity, but a great gift | |
for one who loves, and wishes to be beloved. — | |
Miss Edgeworth. | |
Beauty is such a flecting blossom, how can | |
. wisdom rely upon its momentary delight ?— | |
Seneca. | |
The first distinction’ among men, and the | |
first consideration that gave one precedence over | |
another, was doubtless the advantage of beauty, | |
| Montaigne. | |
Exquisite heanty resides with God. Unity | |
‘and simplicity, joined together in different or- | |
gans, are the principal sources of beauty. It | |
jyesides in the good, the honest, and in the use- | |
jful to the highest physical and intellectual de- | |
gree.— Vinkelman. | |
+: Love that has nothing but heanty to keep it | |
in good health is short-lived, and apt to have | |
‘ague fits —Lvasmus. | |
Beanty is a short-lived tyranny.—Socrates. | |
No woman can be handsome by the force of | |
features alone, any more than she can be witty | |
only by the help of specch.— Hughes. | |
Beauty provoketh thieves sooner_than gold. | |
Shakespeare. | |
Beauty of form affects the mind, but then it | |
must be understood that it is not the mere shell | |
that we admire; we are attracted by the idea | |
that this shell is only a beautiful case adjusted | |
to the shape and ‘value of a still more beautiful | |
pear] within. The perfection of outward loveli- | |
ness is the soul shining through its crystalline | |
covering.—Jane Porter. | |
We call comeliness a mischance in the first | |
respect, which belongs principally to the face.— | |
Montaigne. | |
A thing of beauty is a joy forever.—Aeats. | |
A beantiful form is better than +a beautiful | |
face; it gives a higher pleasure than statues or | |
pictures ; it is the finest of the fine arts.— | |
Emerson. | |
There is no excellent beauty withont some | |
strangeness in the proportion —Bacon. | |
The criterion of trne beauty is that it in- | |
creases on examination ; if false, that it lessens. | |
There is something, therefore, in truc beauty | |
that corresponds with right reason, and is not | |
i merely the ereation of fancy.—Lord Greville. | |
--- Chunk 1, Page 67 --- | |
BEAUTY. | |
49 | |
BEAUTY. | |
Is beauty vain because it will fade? Then | |
are earth’s green robe and heaven’s light vain. | |
Few have borne unconsciously the spell of | |
loveliness.— IVhittier. | |
Every year of my life I grow more convinced | |
that it is the wisest and best to tix our attention | |
on the benutiful and the good, and dwell as | |
little as possible on the evil and the'talse.—Ceedl. | |
Oesser taught me that the ideal of beauty is | |
simplicity and tranquillity.— Goethe. | |
Beanty is-a transitory flower ; even while it | |
lasts it palls on the roving sense when held too | |
. 9 | |
near, or dwelling there too long.—Jeffrey. | |
How intoxicating is the triumph of beauty, | |
and how right it is to name it-queen of the ani | |
yerse!) Tiow many courtiers, how many slaves, | |
have sulnitted to it! But, alas! why must it | |
be that what flatters our senses almost ‘always | |
deceives our sonls ?—Afadame de Surin. | |
Tt is seldom the ease that beautiful persons | |
are otherwise of great virtue.—Bacon. | |
That is true beauty which has not only a | |
snbstance, but a spirit; a beauty that we must | |
intimately know, justly to appreciate.— Colton. | |
The contemplation of beauty in nature, in | |
art, in literatnre, in human character, diffuses | |
through our being a soothing and subtle joy, by | |
which the heart’s anxions and aching cares are | |
softly smiled away.— JVhipple. | |
O human heanty, what a dream art thou, | |
that we should cast our life and hopes away on | |
thee!—Barry Corawall. | |
Beauty is a dangerons property,.tending to | |
corrupt the mind of the wife, thongh it soon | |
loses its influence over the husband. A figure | |
agreeable and eugaging, which inspires affec- | |
tion, without the ebricty of love, is a much safer | |
choice.—Henry [Tome. | |
Beauty is a frail good.— Ovid. | |
By cultivating the heautiful, we seatter the | |
seeds of heavenly flowers; by doing good, we | |
foster those already belonging to humanity.— | |
Howard. | |
In all things that live there are certain ir- | |
regularities and deficiencies which are not only | |
signs of life, but sources of heanty. No human | |
face is exactly the same in its lines on each side, | |
no leaf perfect in its lobes, no branch in its | |
syminetry.— Ruskin. | |
Something of the severe hath always been | |
appertaining to order and to-grace; and the | |
beanty that is not too liberal is songht the most | |
~ardéntly, and loved the longest.—Landor. | |
4 | |
Naught under heaven so strongly doth allure | |
the sense of man, and all bis mind possess, as | |
Pierpont.\ beauty’s love-bait— Spenser. | |
It is the eternal law, that first in beanty | |
should be first in might.—Aeats. | |
The humin heart yearns for the beantiful in | |
all ranks of life. The beautifnl things that | |
God inakes are his gift to all alike. £ know | |
there are inany of the poor who have fine feeling | |
and i keen sense of the beautiful, which rnsts | |
out and dics because they are too hard pressed | |
to procure it uny gratification.—afrs. Stowe. | |
.Around that, neck what dross are gold and | |
pearl !— Young. | |
Ife who cannot see the beantifnl side is a | |
bad painter, a bad friend, a_bad lover; he can- | |
not lift his mind and his heart so high as good- | |
ness.— Joubert. | |
Beauty soon grows familiar to the lover, | |
fades in his eye, and palls upon the sense.— | |
Addison. | |
Nothing is arbitrary, nothing is insulated in | |
beauty. It depends forever ou the necessary | |
and the useful. The plumage of the bird, the | |
mimic plumage of the insect, has a reason | |
for its rich colors in the constitution of the | |
animal. Fitness is so inseparable an. aecompa- | |
niment of beauty, that it has been taken for it. | |
Emerson. | |
The dower of great beanty has always been | |
misfortune, since happiness and beauty do not | |
agree together.— Ca Meron. | |
Beauty is an_exquisite flower, and its per- | |
fume is virtue.— Ruffini. | |
‘An agreeable figure and winning manner, | |
which inspire affection without love, are always | |
"new. Beauty loses its relish, the graces never ; | |
ufter the longest acquaintance, they are no less | |
agreeable than at first—JZenry Home. | |
Liking is not always the child of beauty ; | |
but whatsoever is liked, to the liker is beautiful. | |
Sir P. Sidney. | |
There should he, methinks,-as little merit in | |
loving a woman for her beanty as in loving a | |
man for his prosperity ; both being equally sub- | |
jeet to change.—Pope. | |
0, how much niore doth beauty beauteous | |
seem, hy that sweet ornament which truth doth | |
give !—Shakespeare. | |
We cannot approach beauty. Its nature is | |
like opaline dove’s-neck lustres, hovering «and | |
evanescent. Terein it resembles the most ex- | |
cellent.things, which all have this rainbow char- | |
acter, defying all attempts at appropriation and | |
use.—Emerson. | |
--- Chunk 1, Page 68 --- | |
BEES, | |
50 | |
BELIEF. | |
It is only through the morning gate of | |
the beantiful that you can penetrate into the | |
realm of knowledge. That which we feel | |
here as beauty, we shall one day know as truth — | |
Schiller. | |
Whatever is beautiful is also profitable.— | |
Willmott. | |
There is a certain period of the soul-culture | |
when it begins to interfere with -some of the | |
characters of typical beauty belonging to the | |
bodily frame, the stirring of the intellect wearing | |
down the flesh, and the moral enthusiasm burn- | |
ing its way out ‘to heaven, through the emaci- | |
ation of the earthen vessel; and there is, in- | |
this indication of subduing the mortal by the | |
immortal part, an ideal glory of perhaps a | |
purer and higher range than that of the more | |
perfect material form. We conccive, I think, | |
more nobly of the weak presence of Paul than | |
of the fair and ruddy countenance of David.— | |
Ruskin. | |
Beauty is a possession not our own.—Bion. | |
The beautiful are never desolate, but some | |
one always loves them.—Bailey. | |
Beauty hath no lustre save when it gleameth | |
throngh the crystal web that purity’s fine fin- | |
gers weave for it-—Adaturin. | |
BEES. | |
So work the honey-bees, — creatures that, by | |
a rule in nature, teach the art of order to a peo- | |
pled kingdom.—Shakespeare. | |
The little alms-men of spring bowers.— | |
Keats. | |
Many-colored, sunshine-loving, spring-beto- | |
kening bee! Yellow bee, so mad for love of | |
éarly-blooming flowers !—Professor Wilson. | |
BEGGARS. | |
When beggars die there are no comets seen. | |
Shakespeare. | |
In every civilized society there is found a | |
race of men who retain the instincts of the ab- | |
original cannibal, and live npon their fellow- | |
men asa natural food. These interesting but | |
formidable hipeds, having canght their victim, | |
invariably select one part of his body on which | |
to fasten their relentless grinders. The part | |
thus selected is peculiarly susceptible, provi- | |
dence having made it alive to the least nib- | |
ble; itis situated just above the hip joint; it | |
is protected by a tegument of exquisite fibre, | |
vulgarly called the breeches pocket.— | |
Bulwer Lytton. | |
Sturdy beggars can bear stout denials.— | |
Colton. | |
The true beggar is the only king above all | |
comparison.—Lessing. | |
When paupers evince any consciousness of | |
neglect, they are instantly spurned; if they: | |
complain this time of a scanty dole, the next | |
they will have none. Though our donations | |
are made to please ourselves, we insist upon | |
those who receive our alms being ‘pleased with | |
them.—Zimmer mann. | |
BEHAVIOR. | |
_ Levity of behavior is the bane of all that | |
is good and virtnons.—Seneca. ~ | |
Oddities and singularities of behavior may | |
attend genins ;-when they do, they are its mis- | |
fortunes and its blemishes. The man of true | |
genius will be ashamed of them; at least he | |
will never affect to distingnish himself by whim- | |
sical peculiarities —Sir, JV. Temple. | |
I have known men disagreeably forward | |
from their shyness —Arnold. | |
What is becoming is honorable, and what | |
is honorable is becoming.—Tully. - | |
Any man shall speak the better when he | |
‘knows what others have said, aud sometimes | |
the conscionsness of his inward knowledge | |
gives a confidence to his outward behavior, | |
which of all other is the best thing to grace a | |
man in his carriage.—Feltham. | |
Behavior is a mirror in which every one | |
shows his image.— Goethe. | |
BELIEF. | |
Men willingly believe what they wish to be | |
true.—Casar. | |
Iam not afraid of those tender and scrupv- | |
lous consciences, who are ever cantious of pro- | |
fessing and believing too much; if they are | |
sincerely in the wrong, I forgive their errors, | |
and -respect their integrity. The men I am | |
afraid of are the men who believe everything, | |
subscribe to everything, and vote for everything. | |
Bishop Shipley. | |
The want of belief is a defect which onght | |
to be concealed where it cannot be overcome.— | |
There are thyee means of believing, —by | |
inspiration; by reason, and by custom. Chris- | |
tianity, which is the only rational ‘institution, | |
does yet admit none for its sons who do not | |
believe by inspiration.—Pascal. | |
You do not believe, you only believe that | |
you believe.— Coleridge. | |
When, in your last hour (think of this),-all | |
faculty in the broken spirit shall fade away, | |
and sink into inanity, — imagination, thought, | |
effort, enjoyment, — then -will the flower of be- | |
lief, which blossoms even in the night, remain | |
to refresh yon with its fragrance in the last | |
darkness.— Richter. | |
--- Chunk 1, Page 69 --- | |
BENEDICTION, | |
BENE VOLENCE. | |
Te is a singular fuet that most men of action | |
iucline to the theory of fatalism, -while the | |
greater part-of men of thought believe in provi- | |
denet.— Balzac. | |
BENEDICTION. | |
The best wishes that can be forged in your | |
thoughts be servants to yon — Shakespeare. | |
The benediction of these covering heavens | |
tall on your heads like dew !—Shakespeare. | |
RENEVOLENCE. . | |
To feel much for others and little for our- | |
selves; to restrain onr selfish, and to indulge | |
ont benevolent affcetions, constitute the perfec- | |
tion of human nature.—Adam Smith. ~ . | |
Doing good is the only certainly happy ac- | |
tion of a man’s life—Sir P. Sidney! | |
He that does good to another docs good also | |
to himself, not only in the consequence, but in | |
the very act ; for the conscionsness of well-doing | |
is in itself ample reward.—Seneca. | |
When my friends ar@ one-eyed, I look at | |
their profile —Jonbert. | |
A life of passionate: gratifieation is not to | |
be compared with a life of active benevolence. | |
God has so constituted onr nature that a man | |
cannot be happy unless he is, or thinks he is, & | |
means of good. Judging from our own experi- | |
ence, we cannot conceive of a picture of more | |
unutterable wretchedness than is furnished by | |
one-who knows that he is wholly useless in the | |
world.—Rev, Erskine Mason. | |
Good deeds in this life are coals raked up in | |
embers, to make a fire next day.— | |
Sir LT. Overbury, | |
The disposition to give a enp of cold water | |
toa disciple is a far nobler property than the 4 | |
finest intellect. Satan has a fine intellect, but | |
not the image of God.—Z/owell. | |
Better to expose ourselves to ingratitude | |
than fail in assisting the unfortunate. | |
Du Coeur. | |
Thy love shal] chant itself its own beatitudes, | |
after its own life working. <A’ child-kiss, set | |
on thy sighing lips, shall make thee glad; n | |
poor man, served hy thee, shall make thee rich ; | |
a rich man, helped by thee, shall make .thee | |
strong; thon shalt be served thyself by every | |
sense of service whieh thou rendcrest.— | |
£. B. Browning. | |
Liheratity consists less in giving profusely | |
than in giving judiciously. — Brayére. | |
When thou seest thine encmy in tronble, | |
enrl net thy-whiskers iu contempt; for in every | |
bone there is marrow, and within every jacket | |
there is a min,—Saadi. | |
There is nothing that requires so striet an | |
economy ws our benevolence, We should hnus- | |
band our means-as dhe agriculturist his manure, | |
which, if he spread over too large a superficies, | |
prodnees no crop, — if over too sinall a surface, | |
exuberates in rankness and in weeds.—Colton. | |
Men resemble the gods in nothing so much | |
as in doing good to their fellow-creatures.— | |
Cicero. | |
It is canother’s fault if he be ungratefil, but | |
it is mine if Ido not.give. To find one thank- | |
ful man I will oblige a great many that are not | |
so.— Seneca. | |
_ Benevolenee and feeling ennoble the most | |
trifling actions. —Thackeray. | |
Rich people who are covetous are like the | |
cypress-tree, — they may appear well, but are | |
fruitless; so rich persons have the means to be | |
generous, yet some:are not so, but they should | |
consider they are only trustees for what they | |
possess, and should show their wealth to he | |
more in doing good than merely in having it.— | |
Bishop Hall. | |
Our hands we open of our own free will, | |
and the good flies, which we ean never recall.— | |
Goethe. | |
Nothing is so wholesome, nothing does so | |
much for people’s looks, as a little interchange | |
of the small coin of benevolence.—Ruffiad. | |
Never did any soul do good but it came | |
readier to do the same again, with more enjoy- | |
ment. Never was love or gratitude or bounty | |
practised but with increasing joy, which made | |
the practiser still more in love with the fair act. | |
Shaflesbury. | |
For his bounty, there was no winter in it; | |
an autumn it was, that grew the more by reap- | |
ing.—Shakespeare. | |
The opportunity of making happy is more | |
searee than we imagine; the pnnishment of | |
missing it is, never to meet with it’ again ; and | |
the use we make of it levves us an cternal senti- | |
ment of satisfaction or repentance.—Ztousseau. | |
There is no nse of money equal to that of | |
beneficence; here the enjoyment grows on re- | |
flection.—Jfackenze. | |
There do remain dispersed in the soi} of hu- | |
man nature divers sceds of goodness, of benig- | |
nity, of ingenuity, which, being cherished, ex- | |
cited, and quickened by-good culture, do, by | |
common experience, thrnst out. flowers very | |
lovely, and yield fruits very pleasant of virtue | |
and goodness.— Barrow. | |
Doubtless that is the best charity which, | |
Nilus-like, hath the several streams thercof seen, | |
but the fountain conccaled.—Rev. T. Gouge. | |
--- Chunk 1, Page 70 --- | |
BENEVOLENCE. | |
52 | |
BIBLE. | |
There cannot be a more glorious object in | |
ereation than a human being replete with be- | |
nevolence, meditating in what manner he might | |
render himself most aeeeptable to his Creator | |
by doing most good to his ereatures.—Frelding. | |
The office of liberality consisteth in giving | |
with judgment.— Cicero. | |
No sincere desire of doing good need make | |
an enemy of a single human being; that phi- | |
lanthropy has surely a flaw in it-whiech cannot | |
sympathize with the oppressor equally as with | |
the oppressed.—Lowell. | |
The lower a man descends in his love, the | |
higher he lifts his lite— V7”. 2. Alger. | |
He is good that does good to others. If he | |
suffers for the good he dves, he is better still ; | |
and if he suffers from them to whom he did | |
good, he is arrived to that height of goodness | |
that nothing but an increase of his sufferings | |
can add to it; if it proves his death, his virtue | |
is at its summit, — it is heroism coiplete.— | |
Bruyére. | |
We should do good whenever we can, and | |
do kindness at all times, for at all times we ean. | |
Joubert. | |
Time is short, your obligations are infinite. | |
Are your houses regulated, your children in- | |
structed, the afilicted relieved, the poor visited, | |
the work of piety accomplished ?—Lussilfon. | |
You are so to put forth the power that God | |
has given you; yom are so to give, and sacrifice | |
to give, as to earn the enlogium pronounced on | |
the woman, “She hath done what she could.” | |
Do it now. It is not a safe thing to leave a | |
generous feeling to the cooling influences of a | |
cold world. If you intend to do a mean thing, | |
wait till to-morrow; if you are to do a noble | |
thing, do it now, —now !—Rev. Dr. Guthrie. | |
Rare benevolence, the minister of God.— | |
Carlyle. | |
There is seareely a man who is not conscions | |
of the benefits which his own mind has received | |
from the performance of single acts of benevo- | |
lence. How strange that so few of us try a | |
conrse of the same medicine !—J. F’. Boyes. | |
The greatest pleasure I know is to do a | |
good action by stealth, and to have it found out | |
by aecident—Zamb. | |
My God, grant that my bounty may be a | |
clear.and transparent river, flowing from pure | |
charity, and uncontaminated by self-love, ambi- | |
tion, or interest. Thanks are dune not to me, | |
but thee, from whom all J possess is derived. | |
And what are the paltry gifts for which my | |
neighbor forgets to thank me, compared with | |
the immense blessings for which I have so often | |
forgotten to be grateful to thee !—Gotthold. | |
_ A beneficent person is like a fountain water- | |
ing the earth, and spreading fertility; it is, | |
therefore, more delightful and more honorable | |
to give than receive. —£picurus. | |
Good, the more communicated, more abua- | |
dant grows.—Afilton. | |
The difference of the degrees in whieh the | |
individuals of a great community enjoy the | |
good things of life has been a theme of declara- | |
tion and discontent in all ages; and it is doubt- | |
less onr paramount duty, in every state of | |
society, to alleviate the pressure of the parely | |
evil part of this distribution, as much as possi- | |
ble, and, by all the means we ean devise, secure | |
the lower links in the chain of society from | |
dragging in dishonor and wretchedncss.— | |
Herschel. | |
Benevolence is -allied to few vices; selfish- | |
ness to fewer virtues.—Henry Home. | |
The true source of cheerfulness is benevo- | |
lence. The pursuits of mankind are commonly | |
frigid and contemptible, and the mistake comes, | |
at last, to be detected. But virtue is a charm | |
that never fades. The son] that perpetually | |
overflows with kindness and sympathy will al- | |
ways be cheerful. Purke Godwin. | |
BEREAVEMENT. | |
There is this pleasure in being bereaved, — | |
the thonght that time, which sadly overcometh | |
all things, can alone restore the separated, and | |
bring the mutually beloved together. Time, | |
which plants the furrow and sows the seed of | |
death, stands, to the faithful spirit, a messenger | |
of light at that mysterious wicket-gate from | |
whence we step and enter upon the vast un- | |
known.— IV. G. Clark. | |
BIBLE. | |
Intense study of the Bible will keep any | |
man from being vulgar in point of style— | |
. Coleridge. | |
T will answer for it, the longer yon read the | |
Bible; the more you will like it; it will_ grow | |
sweeter and sweeter ; and the more you get into | |
the spirit of it, the more you will get into the | |
spirit of Christ —Romaine. | |
I am of the opinion that the Bible contains | |
more true snblimity, more exquisite beauty, | |
more pure morality, more important history, | |
and finer strains of poetry and eloquence, than | |
ean be collected from all other books, in what- | |
ever age or language they have been written.— | |
Sir William Jones. | |
As the moon, though darkened with spots, | |
gives us a much -greater light than_ the stars | |
that seem all luminons, so do the Seriptures af- | |
ford more light than the brightest human au- | |
thors. In them the ignorant may learn all | |
requisite knowledge,'and the most knowing may | |
jearn to discern their ignorance.— Boyle. | |
--- Chunk 1, Page 71 --- | |
BIBLE. 53 | |
BIBLE. | |
Men cannot be well cdueated withont the | |
Bible. It. onght; therefore,. to held the chief | |
placé-in every situation of learning thronghout | |
Christendom ; sand Ido not know of a higher | |
In morality there are books enough written | |
wboth by ancient and modern philosophers, but | |
ithe morality of the Gospel doth'so‘exceed then | |
all, that to.give a.man n fnll knowledse of trne | |
service that.could ‘be rendered to this republic j morality, I shall send him te no other bouk than | |
than the bringing about this desirable result.—{ the New Testament.—Locke. | |
Dr. Nott. | |
There never wns found, in any age of the | |
world, either religion or law that did so highly + of | |
exalt the public goodsas the Bible-—Bacon. | |
How admirable and beantifil is the simplici- | |
ty of the Evangelists !. /Phey never speak Injn- | |
nously of the enemies.of Jesus Chnist, of his | |
judges, nor of his exceutioners. They report | |
the facts without n single reflection. They | |
comment ueither on their ‘Master’s anitdness | |
when he was* smitten, nor on his constancy in | |
the hour of his iynominious death, which they | |
thus describe: “ And they erncified Jesns.”— | |
Racine. | |
The Bible.is a window in this prison of hoje | |
through which we look into eternity.—Dwight. | |
The Bible goes equally to the cottage of the | |
plain man and the palace of the king. , It is | |
woven into literature, and it colors the talk of | |
the street. The bark of the merchant cannot | |
sail to sea withou it. No ship of war goes to | |
the conflict bnt the Bible is there. It enters | |
men’s closets ; mingling in all grief and cheerful- | |
ness of life. —Theodore Parker. | |
A Bible-and a newspaper in. every house, a | |
The Bible is a precious storchouse, and the | |
Magna Charta of a Christian. ‘There he reads | |
his Heavenly Father’s love,-and of his dying | |
Satiour’s legacies. There he sees a map of his | |
travels through the wilderness, aud:a landscape, | |
too, of Canaun.— Berridge. | |
.. The Bible is the most betrashed book in the | |
world. Coming to it throngh commenturies is | |
much like looking at a landscape throngh gar- | |
ret windows, over which .generations of unnio- | |
tested spiders have spun their webs.— Beecher. | |
I use the Scriptures, not as an arsenal to be | |
resorted to only for arms and weapons, but as a | |
matehless temple, where I delight to contem- | |
plate the beauty, the symmetry, and the magnifi- | |
cence of the structure, and to increase my awe | |
and excite my devotion to the Deity there | |
preachedfandsadored.— Boyle. | |
The Scriptures teach us the best way of | |
living, the noblest way of suffering, and the | |
most comfortable way of dying.—Flavel. | |
Many will say “T can find God without the | |
help of the Bible, or church, or minister.” | |
Very well. Do so if yon can. The Ferry | |
Company would feel no jealousy of a man who | |
good school in every district, — all studied andy should prefer to.swim to New York. Let him | |
appreciated as they merit, —are the principal’ do so if he is able, and we will talk about it on | |
support of virtue, morality, and civil Hiberty.— | |
Franklin. | |
So far as I ever observed God’s dealings | |
with my soul, the flights of preachers sometimes | |
entertained me, but it was Scripture expressions | |
which did penetrate my heart, and in a way. pe- | |
euliar to themselves.—J. Brown of Lladdington. | |
Scholars may quote Plato in stndies, but thé | |
hearts of millions shall quote the Bible at their | |
daily toil, and. draw strength from its inspira- | |
tion, as the meadows draw it from the brook.— | |
Conway. | |
What is the Bible in your honse? It is not | |
the Old ‘Festament, it is not the New Testa- | |
ment, it is not the Gaspel: according to Mat- | |
thew or Mark or Luke or Juhn; it is the Gos- | |
pel according to William, it is the Gospel | |
according to Mary, itis the Guspel according | |
to Henry and Janes, it is the Gospel according | |
to your name. You write your own Bible.— | |
Beecher. | |
It is a belicf in the Bible, the frnits of deep | |
meditation, which has served me as the guide of | |
my moral-and literary life. I have found it’a | |
capital safely invested, and richly productive of | |
interest.— Goethe. | |
the other shore; but probably trying te swim | |
‘would be the thing that would bring him | |
quickest to the boat. So God would have no | |
jealousy of a man’s .going to heaven without | |
the aid of the Bible, or church, or minister; but | |
let him try to do so, and it will be the surest | |
way to bring him back to them for assistance.— | |
Beecher. | |
As the profoundest philosophy of ancient | |
Rome and Greece lighted her taper at Israel’s | |
saltar, so the sweetest Strains of the pagan muse | |
were swept from harps attuned on Zion’s hill._— | |
Bishop Thomson. | |
There.are no songs comparable to the songs | |
of Zion, no orations equal to those of -the | |
Prophets, and no politics like those which the | |
Scriptures teach.—Afiiton. | |
A man may read the figure on the dial, but | |
he ernuot tell how the day goes unless the sun | |
shines on the dial; we may read the Bible over, | |
bnt we cannot Jearn to purpose till the Spirit of | |
God shine into our hearts.—fev. T. Watson. | |
The Bible begins gloriously with Paradise, | |
the symbol of youth, and ends with the ever- | |
lasting kingdom, with the holy city. The his- | |
tory of every man should be a Bible —Novelis. | |
BD | |
--- Chunk 1, Page 72 --- | |
BIGOTRY. | |
54 | |
BIRTH. | |
The pure and noble, the graceful and dig- | |
nified, simplicity of language is nowhere in such | |
perfection as in the Scriptures and Homer. | |
The whole book of Job, with regard both to | |
sublimity of thought and morality, exceeds, | |
beyond all comparison, the most noble parts of | |
Homer.—Pope. | |
Every leaf is a spacious plain; every line a | |
flowing brook ; every period a lofty monntain.— | |
Hervey. | |
BIGOTRY. | |
Bigotry murders religion, to frighten fools | |
with her ghost.— Cotton. | |
Show me the man who would go to heaven | |
alone if he could, and in that man I will show | |
you one who will never be admitted into heav- | |
en.—Feltham. | |
A man who stole the livery of the court of | |
heaven to serve the devil in—Pollok. | |
There is no tariff so injurious as that with | |
which sectarian bigotry guards its commodities. | |
It dwarfs the soul by shutting out truths from | |
other continents of thought, and checks the cir- | |
culation of its own.— Chapin. | |
BIOGRAPHY. | |
Biography is the home aspect of history.— | |
Willmott. | |
As it often happens that the best men are | |
but little known, and consequently cannot ex- | |
tend the nsefulness of their examples a great | |
way, the biographer*is of great utility, as, by | |
communicating such valuable ‘patterns to the | |
world, he may perhaps do a more extensive | |
service to mankind than the person whose life | |
originally afforded the pattern. —/ieding. | |
_ Alife that is worth writing at all is worth | |
writing minutely.—Longfellow. | |
Biography, especially the biography of the | |
great and good, who have risen by their own | |
exertions from poverty and obseurity to emi- | |
nence and usefulness, is an inspiring ‘and en- | |
hobling stndy. Its direet tendency is to repro= | |
duee the excellence it records.—Horace Mann. | |
In reading the life of any great man you | |
savill always, in the course of his history, chance | |
npon some obscure individual who, on some | |
partienlar occasions, was greater than he whose | |
life you are reading.—Colton. | |
There is properly no history, only biogra- | |
phy.—Emerson. | |
My advice is, to consult the lives of other | |
men as we wonld ‘@ looking-glass, and from | |
thence fetch examples for our own imitation. — | |
Terence. | |
One anecdote of a man is worth a volume of | |
biography. Channing. | |
Biography admonishes pride, when it dis- | |
plays Salmasius, the champion of kings, shiver- | |
ing- under the eye and scourge of his wife; or | |
bids us stand ‘at thedoor of Milton’s academy, | |
and hear the scream and the ferule wp stairs. | |
Tt steals on_the poet and the premier in their | |
undress, — Cowley in dressing-gown and slip- | |
pers, and Ceeil with his treasurer’s robe on the | |
chair.— Willmott. | |
Biography is the most universally pleasant, | |
universally profitable, of all reading.— Carlyle. | |
Of all stndies, the most delightful and the | |
most usefitl is biography. The seeds of great | |
events lie near the surface; historians dclve too | |
deep for them. No _ history was ever true. | |
Lives I have read which, if they were not, had | |
the appearance, the interest, and the utility of | |
truth.—Landor. | |
BIRTH. | |
What is birth to a man if it shall be a | |
stain to his dead ancestors to have left sueh an | |
offspring ?—Sir P. Sidney. | |
Verily, I swear, it is better to be lowly born, | |
and range with humble livers in eontent, than | |
to be perked up in a glistering gricf, and wear | |
a golden sorrow.—Shakespeare. - | |
Every anniversary of a birthday is the dis- | |
pelling of a dream.— Zschokke. | |
A noble birth and fortune, thongh they | |
make not a bad man good, yet they are a real | |
advantage to a worthy one, and place his virtues | |
in the fairest light.—Lillo. _— | |
Our birth is nothing but our death begun, | |
as tapers waste that instant they take fire.— | |
. ° Young. | |
Custom forms us all; our thoughts, our | |
morals, our most- fixed belief, are consequences | |
of onr place of birth.—Aaron Hill. . | |
High birth is a gift of fortune which should | |
never challenge esteem towards those who’ re- | |
ceive it, since it costs them ‘neither stndy nor | |
labor. —Bruyére. ~ | |
The birth of a child is the imprisonment of | |
a soul.— Simms. | |
a | |
Called to the throne by the voice of the | |
People, my maxim has always been, A career | |
open to talent without distinction of birth. It | |
is this system of equality for’ which the Euro- | |
pean oligarchy detests me.—Napoleon. | |
Birth is a shadow. Courage, self-sustained, | |
outlords succession’s phlegm, and needs no an- | |
cestors.—Aaron Hill, | |
Iwas born so high, onr aerie buildeth in the | |
cedar’s top, ‘and dallies with the: wind, «and | |
scorns the sun.— Shakespeare. | |
--- Chunk 1, Page 73 --- | |
BIRTHPLACE. ‘ | |
BIRTHPLACE. . | |
Whatever strengthens our local-attachments | |
is favoruble both to individnal and national | |
character. Our home, onr_ birthplace, our | |
native land,—think for a while. what the vir- | |
tues are’ which~arise ont of the feelings con- | |
nected with these words, amd if you have any | |
intelleetnal eyes, you will then perceive the | |
connection between topoxraphy- and patriotism, | |
Southey. | | |
Those who wish to forget painful thoughts | |
do well to absent themselves tor a. while from | |
the ties aud objects that recall them ;" but we | |
can be said only to fulfil ow destiny in the | |
place that gave us birth —Luctitt. | |
BLESSEDNESS. | |
Trne ‘hlesseduess consisteth in a good life | |
and a happy death.—Solon. | |
Nothing raises the price of a blessing like | |
its removal; whereas it was its. continuance | |
which shonld have taught us its value. here | |
are three requisitions to the proper enjoyment | |
of earthly blessings, —a thankfat reflection on | |
the goodness of the Giver, a deep sense of ont | |
unworthiness, 2 recollection of the wacertainty | |
of long possessing them. The first would make | |
us grateful; the second, humble; und the third, | |
moderate. —LHannah More. | |
Blessedness is ‘a whole eternity older than | |
damnuation.— Richter. | |
Blessings we enjoy dnily; and for most | |
of them, beednse they be so common, most men | |
forget to pay their praises; but let not us, | |
because it is a sacrifice so pleasing to Him that | |
made the sun and us,‘and still protects us, aud | |
gives us flowers and showers and meat and | |
content.—dzeak Walton. | |
The wise man starts and trembles at the | |
perils of a bliss.— Young. | |
The beloved of the Almighty are the rich | |
who have the humility of the poor, and the poor | |
who have the magnanimity of the rich.—Saadi. | |
And let me tell you that every misery I | |
miss is a new blessing.—/zauk Walton. | |
It is too. generally true that all that is re- | |
quired to make men unmindfal what they owe | |
to God for any blessing is that they should re- | |
ceive that blessing often enough, ‘and regularly | |
enough.— Bishop Whately. . | |
He alone is blessed who never was born.— | |
. Prior. | |
BLOCKHEAD. | |
A blockhead cannot come in, nor go-away, | |
Nor sit, nor rise, nor stand, like a-man of-sense. | |
Bruyere. | |
Heaven .and earth fight in vain against o | |
dunce !—Schiller, ° | |
55 | |
BLUSH. | |
There, never was any arty, faction, sect, or | |
cabal whatsoever, in which the most ignorant | |
were not the most violent; forn bee is not a | |
busier animal than v blockhead. —Pope. | |
BLUNTNESS. | |
Me speaks home; you may relish him more | |
in the soldier than in the scholar.— Shakespeare. | |
BLUSH. | |
The heart’s meteors tilting in the face— | |
Shakespeare: | |
They teach us-to dance; O-that they could | |
teach us to blush, did it cost a guinea a‘glow !+. | |
Madame Daluzy. | |
The bold defiance of-a woman is the certain | |
sign of her shame, — when she_has onee ccased | |
to blush, it is because she has too much to | |
blush for.—Talleyrand. | |
The man that blushes is not quite a brute.— | |
Young. | |
How beautifil your reproof has made your | |
daughter! That crimson hue and silver tears | |
beeome her better than any ornainent of gotd | |
and pearls. These may hang on the neck of a | |
wanton, but those ave never seen disconnected | |
with moral purity. A fall-blown rose, be- | |
sprinkled with the purest dew, is not so beantifut | |
as this child blushing beneath her parent’s dis- | |
pleasure, and shedding tears of sorrow for her | |
tault. A blush is the sign which natmre hangs | |
out to show where chastity and honor dwell.— | |
Gottheld. | |
Give me the eloquent cheek, where blushes | |
burn and dic.—Afrs. Osgood. | |
Bid the cheek be ready with a blush, modest | |
as Morning’ when she coldly eyes the youthful | |
Pheebus.— Shakespeare. | |
_.Men blush less for their erimes than for their | |
weaknesses'and vanity. —Bruyere. | |
O, call not to this aged cheek the little blood | |
which should keep warm iny heart !—Dryden. | |
Blushing is the livery of virtne, though it | |
may sometimes proceed from guilt ;- so it holds | |
true of poverty, that itis the attendant of vir- | |
tue, though sometimes it may proceed from | |
mismanagement and‘aceident.—-Bacon. | |
It is better for a young man to blush than | |
to turn pale.— Cato, . | |
From every blush that kindles in thy cheeks | |
ten thousand little loves ind graces spring to | |
revel in the roses.— Howe. | |
The hue given hack by the clouds from the | |
reflected rays of the sun or the parple morn, | |
such was the countenance of Diana when she | |
was discovered unclothed.—Oerrd. | |
--- Chunk 1, Page 74 --- | |
BLUSTERING. | |
56 | |
BODY. | |
What means, alas! that blood which flushes | |
guilty in your face ?—Dryden. | |
The blush is nature’s alarm at the approach | |
of sin, and her testimony to the dignity of | |
virtue —Fuller. | |
Like the last beam of evening thrown ona | |
white cloud, just seen and gone.— Walter Scott. | |
Though looks ‘and words, by the strong | |
mastery of his practised will, are overruled, the | |
monnting blood betrays an inipulse in its seeret | |
spring too deep for his control.— Southey. | |
Bike the faint streaks of light broke Joose | |
from darkness, and dawning into blnshes.— | |
Dryden. | |
To such as boasting show their sears a mock | |
is due.—Shakespeare. | |
Commonly they use their feet for defence, | |
wEose tongue is their weapon.— Sir P. Sidney. | |
Lord Bacon told Sir Edward Coke when | |
he boasted, “The less you speak of your great- | |
ness, the more I shall think of if’ Mirrors | |
are the accompaniments of dandies, not heroes. | |
The men of history were not perpetually look- | |
ing in the glass to make sure of their own size. | |
{ Absorbed in their work they didit, and did it | |
so well that the wondering world saw them to | |
be great, and labelled them accordingly.— | |
Rev. §. Coley. | |
Who knows himself a braggart, let him fear | |
this; for it will come to pass that every brag- | |
Troubled blood through his pale face was gart shall be found an ass.—Shakespeare. | |
seen to come -and go, with tidings from his| | |
heart, as it a running messenger had been.— | |
Spenser. | |
The ineonvenience or the beauty of the blush, | |
whieh is the greater ?—Afadame Necker. | |
BLUSTERING. | |
+ A-killing tongue, and a quiet sword.— | |
" Shakespeare. | |
It is with narrow-sonled people as+with nar- | |
row-necked bottles; the less they have in them, | |
the more noise they make in pouring it ont— | |
Pope. | |
The Devil may be bullied, but not the Deity. | |
W. R. Alger. | |
Those that-are the loudest in their threats | |
are the weakest in the execution of them. In | |
springing a mine, that which has done the most | |
extensive mischief makes the. smallest report; | |
and again, if we consider the effect of lightning, | |
it is probable that he that is killed by it hears | |
no noise; but the thunderclap which follows, | |
and whieh most alarms the ignorant, is the | |
surest proof of their safety.— Colton. | |
The empty vessel makes the greatest sound. | |
Shakespeare. | |
A. brave man is sometimes a desperado 3 +a | |
bully is always a coward.— Haliburton. | |
BOASTING. | |
Where there is mneh pretension, much has | |
been borrowed ; nature never pretends.— | |
Lavater. | |
There is this benefit in brag, that the | |
speaker is unconsciously expressing his own | |
ideal. Humor him by all means, draw it ‘all | |
out, and hold him to it—merson. | |
A gentleman that loves to hear himself talk, | |
and will speak more in a minute than he will | |
stand to in a mouth.— Shakespeare. | |
The honor is overpaid when he that did the | |
act is eommentator.—Shirley. | |
What art thon? Have not I an arm as big | |
as thine? ,a+ heart as big? Thy words, I grant, | |
are bigger, for I wear not my dagger in my | |
mouth.— Shakespeare. | |
Where boasting ends, there dignity begins. | |
oung. | |
One man affirms that he has rode post a | |
hundred miles in six hours: probably it is a lie; | |
but supposing it to be true, what then? Why, | |
he is a very good post-boy ; that is all. Another | |
asserts, and probably not withont oaths, that he | |
has drunk six or cight bottles of wine at a sit- | |
ting; out of charity I will believe him a liar; | |
for, if I do not, I must think him a beast.— | |
Chesterfield, | |
We wound our modesty, and make foul the | |
clearness of our deservings, when of ourselves | |
we publish them.— Shakespeare. | |
Men of real merit, and whose noble and | |
glorions deeds we are ready to acknowledge, | |
are yet not to be endured when they vaunt | |
their own aetions.—-dschines. | |
Conecit, more rich in matter than in words, | |
brags of his substance, not of ornament; they | |
are but beggars that can euunt their worth.— | |
Shakespeare. | |
Boasting and bravado may exist in the | |
breast even of the coward, if he is snceessful | |
through a mere Incky hit; but 2 just contempt | |
of an enemy can alone arise in those who feel | |
that they are superior to their opponent by the | |
prudence of their measures. — Thucydides. | |
BODY. | |
What! know ye not that yonr body is the | |
temple of the Holy Ghost which is in you, | |
which ye have of God; and ye are not your | |
own ?— Bible. | |
--- Chunk 1, Page 75 --- | |
BOLDNESS. | |
57 | |
BOOKS. | |
These Hmbs, whence had we them ? — this | |
stormy force; this life-blood, with its burning | |
passion? They are dust and shadow, — a | |
shadow-system gathered round our me; where- | |
in, through some moments or years, the divine | |
essence is to be revealed in the tlesh.— Carlyle. | |
Every physician knows, thongh metaphy- | |
sicians know fittle about it, that the laws which | |
govern the animal machine-are’as certain and | |
invariable as those which guide the planetary | |
system, and are as Hittke within the control of | |
the human being who is subject to them.— | |
Priestley. | |
Onr body is a well-set clock, which keeps | |
good time; but if it be too much or indisereetly | |
tampered with, the alarum runs out before the | |
hour.— Bishop Hall. | |
God made the human body, and it is by far | |
the most exquisite and wonderful organization | |
which has come to us from the Divine hand. | |
It is a stndy for one’s whole life. If an unde- | |
Yout astronomer is mad, an undevout physiolo- | |
gist is still madder.—Beecher. | |
BOLDNESS. | |
Fools rush in where angels fear to tread.— | |
Pope. | |
It deserves to be considered that boldness is | |
ever blind, for it sees not dangers and incon- | |
veniences. Whenee it is bad in council though | |
good in executiog. The right use of bold per- | |
sous, therefore, is that they never command in | |
chief, but serve as seconds, under the direction | |
of others. For in couneil itis good to see dan- | |
gers, and in execution not to see them unless | |
they are very great.—Dacon. | |
Fortune befriends the bold.— Dryden. | |
Carried away by the irresistible influence | |
which is always exercised over men’s minds by | |
whold resolution in critical circtunstanees.— | |
Guizot. | |
We make way for the man who boldly | |
pushes past us.—Bovee. | |
BONDAGE. | |
Bondage is hoarse, and may not speak alond. | |
hakespeare. | |
A bond is necessary to complete onr being, | |
only we must be careful that the bond does not | |
become bondage. —Jfrs. Jameson. | |
BOOKS, | |
After the pleasure of possessing books there is | |
hardly anything more pleasant than that of speak- | |
ing of them, and of communicating to the public | |
the innocent richness of thanght which we have | |
acquired by the culture of letters.—Nodier. | |
We are-as Hable to be corrupted by books as | |
by companious.—fedding. . | |
If I were to pray for a taste which would | |
stand by me under cvery ‘variety of eireum- | |
stances, and be a source of happiness and cheer- | |
fuluess to me through life, and a shield agaist | |
its ills, however things might go amiss, and the | |
world frown upon inc, it would be a taste for | |
reading.—Jferschel. | |
It is in books the chief of all perfections to | |
be plain and bricfi—Butler. | |
The books which help you most are those | |
which make yon think the most. The haritest | |
way of learning is by easy reading: but a great | |
book that comes from. great thinker, —it is :a | |
ship of thought, deep freighted with trnth and | |
with beauty.— Theodore Parker. | |
Great books, like large skulls, have often | |
the least brains.—IV7. Br Clulow. | |
When a book raises your spirit, and inspires | |
yon with noble and courageous feelings, seck | |
for no other rule"to judge the work by; it is | |
good, and made by a good workman. —Bruyére. | |
Next to acquiring good friends, the best ac- | |
quisition is that of good Looks.— Colton. , | |
Books, says Lord Bacon, ean never teach | |
us the use of books; the stndent must learn by | |
commerce with mankind to reduce his specula- | |
tions to practice.” No man should think so | |
highly of himsclf as to think he can receive but | |
little light from hooks ; no one so meanly, as to | |
helieve he can discover nothing brt what is to | |
be learned from theii.—Johnson. | |
Books, like friends, should be few, and well | |
chosen.—Joineviana. | |
Many readers jndge of the power of ‘a book | |
by the shock it gives their feelings, — as some | |
savage tribes determine the power of their mns- | |
kets by their recoil; that being considered best | |
which fairly prostrates the purchaser.— | |
Longfellow. | |
A book is the only immortality:— | |
Rufus Choate. | |
Many books belong to sunshine, and should | |
be read out of doors. Clover, violets, and hedge | |
roses hreathe from their leaves ; they re: most | |
lovable in. cool tanes, along field paths, or upon | |
stiles overhung by hawthorn, while. the black- | |
bird pipes, and the nightingale bathes its brown | |
feathers in the twilight copse.— Wilmott. | |
It istalways casy to shut-a book, but not | |
quite so easy to get rid ofa lettered coxcomh. — | |
Colton. | |
In looking around me secking for miscrable | |
resources against the heaviness of time, I open | |
a book, and I say to myself, as the cat to the | |
fox : I have only one good turn, but I need no | |
other.—Madame Necker. | |
--- Chunk 1, Page 76 --- | |
BOOKS. | |
A good book is the best of friends, — the | |
same to-day-and forever.— Tupper. | |
The silent power of books is a great power | |
in the world ; and there is a joy i reading them | |
which those alone can know who read them | |
with desire and enthnsiasm. Silent, passive, ! | |
‘and noiseless thongh they be, they may yct sct! | |
in action countless multitudes, and change -the | |
order of nations.—Zenry Giles. | |
1 | |
Learning hath. gained most by those books | |
by which printers have lost —Fuller. | |
The diffusion of these silent teachers — | |
books —throngh the whole community is to | |
work greater efleets than artillery, machinery, | |
and legislation. Its peaceful agency is to su- | |
ersede stormy revolutions. Tlic culture which | |
it is to spread, whilst an wnspeakable good to | |
the individual, is also to become the stability of | |
nations. —Channing. | |
Books:are embalmed minds.—Bovee. | |
Books are faithful repositories, which may | |
be awhile neglected or forgotten, but when they | |
are opened’ again, will again impart their in- | |
structiun. Memory, once interrupted, is not to | |
be recalled; written learning is a fixed Jumi- | |
nary, which, after the clond that had hidden ir | |
has passed away, is again bright in its proper | |
station. Tradition is but-a, meteor, which, if | |
it once falls, cannot be rckindled.—J/ohnson. | |
Every great book is an aetion, and every | |
great action is a book.—Lauther. | |
A man ought to inquire and find ont what | |
he really and truly has au appetite for; what | |
suits’ his constitution; and that, doctors tell | |
him, is the very thing he ought to have in gen- | |
eral. And so with books.—Carlyle. | |
Every man is-a'volume if you know how to | |
vead him.— Channing. | |
Books, of which the principles are diseased | |
or deformed, must be kept on the shelf of the | |
scholar, as the man of science preserves mon- | |
sters in glasses. They belong to the study of | |
the mind’s morbid anatomy, and onght to be | |
accurately labelled. Voltaire will stil] be a | |
wit; notwithstanding he is a scoffer; and we | |
may admire the brilliant spots.and eyes of the | |
viper, if we acknowledge its venom and call it a | |
reptile.— Wilhnott. | |
Come, my best friends, my books! and lead | |
me on.— Cowley. | |
Most books fail, not so mueh from a want | |
of ability in their authors, as from an absence | |
in their productions of a thorough development | |
of their ability. —Bovee. | |
Rooks, — lighthouses erected in the great | |
sea, of time.— Whipple. | |
58 | |
BOOKS. | |
A book should be himinous, but not volu- | |
minous.—Bovee. | |
Let ns consider how-great a commodity of | |
doctrine. exists in books; how easily, how se- | |
eretly, how safely they expose the nakedness of | |
tuunan_ignorance without putting it to shame. | |
These are the masters who instruet us without | |
rods and ferules, without hard words and anger, | |
without clothes or money. If you approach | |
them, they-are not asleep; if investigating you | |
interrogate them, they ‘conceal nothing ; if you | |
mistake them, they never grumble; if you are | |
ignorant, they cannot laugh at you.— | |
Richard de Bury. | |
Books are the immortal sons dcifying their | |
sires.—Plato. | |
To divert myself froma troublesome faney, | |
it is but to run to my books; they presently fix | |
me to them, and drive the other ont of my | |
thoughts, and dé not mutiny to see that I have | |
only recourse to them for want of other more | |
real, natural, and lively conveniences; they | |
always receive me with the same -kindness.— | |
Montaigne. | |
One must be rich in thought and character | |
to owe nothing to books, though preparation is | |
necessary to profitable reading ; and the less | |
reading 1s Letter than more ; — book-struek men | |
are of all readers least wise, however knowing | |
or learned.— Alcott. | |
God be thanked for book8. They are the | |
voices of the distant and the dead, and make us | |
heirs of the spiritnal life of past ages.— | |
Channing. | |
The greatest pleasure in life is that of read- | |
ing while we are young. I have had as much | |
of this pleasure perhaps as any one.—Haclitt. | |
Without books God is silent, justiee dor- | |
mant, natural science ‘at a stand, philosophy | |
lame, letters dumb, and_all things involved in | |
Cimmerian darkness.~Bartholin. | |
Books are the'trne metempsychosis, — they | |
are the symbol and presage of immortality. | |
The dead men are scattered, -and none shall | |
find them. Behold they are here! they do but | |
sleep.— Beecher. | |
Many books owe their snecess to the good | |
memories of their anthors and the bad memories | |
of their readers.—Colton. | |
Mankind are creatures of books, as well as | |
of other circumstances ; and such they eternally | |
remain, — proofs, that the race is a noble and be- | |
lieving race, and capable of whatever books ean | |
stimulate.—Leigh unt. | |
How many books there are whose reputa- | |
tion is made that would not obtain it were it | |
now to make !-—/oubert. | |
--- Chunk 1, Page 77 --- | |
BOOKS. | |
In comparing men and books, one must al- | |
ways remeniber this important distinction, — | |
thnt one can put-the books down at any time. | |
As Macaulay says, “Plato is never sullen, | |
Cervantes is never petulant, Demosthenes nev- | |
er comes: unseasonably, Dante never stays too | |
long.” — Willis. . | |
Books are a languid pleasure.—.lontaigne. | |
Plays-and romanees sell as well as books | |
of devotion, but with this difference, — more | |
people read the former than buy them, ‘and | |
more buy the latter than read them.— | |
L. Hughes. | |
+ | |
Some books are drenched sands, on which | |
a great soul’s wealth lies all in heaps, like a‘ | |
wrecked argosy.—Alexander Smith. | |
The worth of a book is a matter of expressed | |
juices.—Bovee. | |
Books are a guide in youth, and an enter- | |
tainment for age. They support us under soli- | |
tide, and keep us from becoming a burden to | |
ourselves. They help us to forget the crossness | |
of men and things, compose our cares and our | |
assions, and Jay our disappointments asleep. | |
When we are weary of the living, we may re- | |
pair to the dead, who have nothing of peevish- | |
ness, pride, or design in their conversation.— | |
Jeremy Collier. | |
He hath never fed of the dainties that are | |
bred in a book.—Shukespeare. | |
A. book becomes 4 mirror, with the author’s | |
face shining over it. Talent only gives an im- | |
perfect image, —the broken glimmer of a coun- | |
tenance. But the features of genius remain | |
unruffled. Time guards the shadow. Beauty, | |
the spiritual Venus, — whose children.are the | |
Tassos, the Spensers, the Bacons, — breathes the | |
magic of her love, and fixes the face forever.— | |
Willmott. | |
Some books are to. be tasted, others-to be | |
swallowed, and some few to be. chewed ‘and. di- | |
-gested.— Bacon. | |
Good books-are to the young mind what | |
the warming sun and the refreshing” rain of | |
spring are to the seeds which have lain dormant | |
in the frosts of winter. They, are more, for | |
they may save from that which is worse than | |
death, as well as bless with that which is better | |
than life.—Zforuce ‘Mann. ~ | |
Books are not seldom talismans and spells.— | |
Jowper. || | |
Books are not absolutely dead things, but do | |
eontaina potency of life in them to be as active | |
as that soul was whose progeny they are; nay, | |
they do preserve, as in‘a-vial, the purest efficacy | |
59 | |
and extraction of that living intellect that bred, | |
them.— Mitton. | |
BOOKS. | |
He that will have no books but those that | |
lare scarce evinces.about as correcta taste in | |
literature as he would do in friendship who | |
would have no friends bnt those whom ‘all | |
the rest of the world have sent to Coventry.— | |
Colton. | |
The last thing that We discover in writing a | |
book is to know what to put at the beginning — | |
Pascal. | |
Books, as Dryden has aptly termed them, | |
are spectacles to read nature. /Eschylus and | |
Aristotle, Shakespeare and Bacon, are pricsts | |
who preach and exponnd the mysteries of man | |
and the universe. ‘They teach us to understand | |
and feel what we see, to decipher and syllable | |
the hicroglyphics of the senses.—Hare. | |
Those faithful mirrors, which reflect to our | |
mind the minds of sages and heroes.— Gibbon. | |
. pa | |
Books are the best of things, well used ; | |
abused;among the worst. What is the right | |
usé? What is the one end, which all means go | |
to effect? They are for nothing but to inspire. | |
I had better never sce a book than to be warped | |
by its attraction elean out of my own orbit, and | |
made a satellite instead of a system.—Lmerson. | |
Without grace no book can live, and with | |
it the poorest may have its life prolonged.— | |
‘orace. Walpole. | |
Knowledge of books is-like that sort of lan- | |
tern which hides him who carries it, and serves | |
only to pass through secret and gloomy paths | |
of his own ; but in the possession of a man of | |
business it is*as a torch in the hand of one | |
who is willing and able to show those who | |
are bewildered the way which leads to their | |
prosperity and welfare.—Steele. | |
There was-a time when the world acted upon | |
books. Now books act upon the world.— | |
Joubert. | |
Of many large volumes the-index is the best | |
portion and the usefallest. A glance through | |
the casement gives whatever knowledge of the | |
interior is needful. An epitome is only a book | |
shortened; and, as ‘a general rule, the worth | |
inereases-as the size lessens.— Willmott. | |
Yon shall see a beautiful quarto page, where | |
a neat rivulet of text shal] meander throngh.a | |
meadow of thargin.— Sheridan. , | |
Men love better books which please them | |
than those which instruct. Since their ennui | |
troubles them more than their ignorance, they | |
prefer being amused to being informed.— | |
LT’ Abbé Dubois. | |
Those who are conversant with books well | |
know how often they mislead us.when we’ have | |
not 2 living-monitor at hand to assist us in com | |
paring practice with theory. —Junius. | |
--- Chunk 1, Page 78 --- | |
BOOKS. | |
60 | |
BOOKS. | |
Thon mayst 4s well expect to grow stronger | |
by always eating as wiser by always reading, | |
‘Yoo much overcharges nature, and turns more | |
into disease than nonrishment. It ‘is thought | |
‘and digestion which makes books serviceable, | |
and gives health and vigor to the mind — | |
Fuller. | |
The quantity of books in a library is often a | |
cloud of witnesses of the ignorance of the | |
owner.— Oxenstiern. | |
Many a-man lives a bnrden upon the earth ; | |
but a good book is the precious life-blood of a | |
master spirit, embalmed and treasured up on | |
purpose for'a life beyond life.—ALilton. | |
A book may be compared to the life of your | |
neighbor. If it be good, it cannot last too | |
long; if bad, you cannot get rid of it too early — | |
Hi. Brooke. | |
Some new books it is necessary to read, — | |
part for the information they contain, and | |
others in order to acquaint one’s self with the | |
state of literature in the age tn which one lives ; | |
but I would rather read too few than too many. | |
Lord Dudley. | |
Many books reqnire no thought from those | |
who read them, and for a simple reason, — they | |
made no such demand upon thosc who wrote | |
them.— Colton. | |
Books, to judicious compilers, are useful, — | |
to particular arts and professions absolutely ne- | |
cexsary, —to men of real science they arc tools ; | |
but more are tools to them.—Johnson, | |
Worthy books are not companions, they | |
are solitndes ; we lose ourselves in them, and ‘all | |
onr cares.— Bailey. . . | |
There are persons who flatter themselves | |
thatthe size of their works will make them im- | |
mortal. They pile up reluctant quarto upon | |
solid folio, as if their Inhors, because they are | |
gigantic, could contend with truth and heaven! | |
Junius, | |
Books, like proverbs, receive their chief value | |
from the stamp and esteem of ages through | |
which they have passed.—Sir W. Temple. | |
Do not believe that a book is good, if in | |
reading it thou dost not become more contented | |
with thy existence, if it does not rouse up in | |
thee most. generous feelings. —Lavater. | |
He who loves not books before he comes to | |
thirty years of age will hardly love them | |
enough afterwards to understand them.— | |
- Clarendon. | |
Books: are the true levellers. They give to | |
all who faithtally use them the society, the | |
spiritual presence, of the best and greatest of our | |
race.— Channing. | |
“We ought to reverence books, to look at | |
them as useful and mighty things. If they are | |
good and true, whether they are about religion | |
or politics, farming, trade, or medicine, they are | |
the message of Christ, the maker of all things, | |
the teacher of all truth —fev. C. Avngsley. | |
A book may be'as great a thing as a battle — | |
Disraeli. | |
It is with books as with women, where a | |
certain plainness of manner and of dress is | |
more engaging than that glare of paint and airs | |
and apparel which may dazzle the eye, but | |
reaches not the affections.—Hume. | |
There is no book so poor that it would not | |
be a prodigy if wholly made by a single man.— | |
Johnson. | |
The past but lives in words; a thonsand | |
ages were blank if books had not evoked their | |
ghosts, and kept the pale, nnbodied shades to | |
warn us from fleshless lips.— Bulwer Lytton. | |
Books that you may carry to the fire, and | |
hold readily in your hand, are the most useful | |
after all.—Johnson. | |
Books are the Jegacics that genins leaves to | |
mankind, to be delivered down from generation | |
to generation, as presents to the posterity of | |
those that are yet unborn.—Addison. | |
When self-interest inclines a man to print, | |
he should consider that the purchaser expects a | |
pennyworth for his penny, and has reason to | |
asperse his honesty if he finds himself deceived. — | |
Shenstone. | |
There is a kind of physiognomy in the titles | |
of books no less than in the faces of men, by | |
which a skilfel observer will-as well know what | |
to expeet from the one as the other.—Butler, | |
A first book has some of the sweetness of a | |
first love. The music of the soul passes into it. | |
The unspotted eye illuminates it. Defects are | |
nnobserved ; sometimes they grow even pleasing | |
from their connection with an object that is | |
dear, like the oblique eye in the girl to whom | |
the philosopher was attached. Later surprises | |
will amuse, and deeper sympathics may cheer | |
us, but the charm loses its freshness, and the | |
tenderness some of the balm.— ]Villmott.” | |
It ts books that teach us to refine our pleas- | |
ures when young, and which, having so tanght | |
us, enable ns to reeall them with satisfaction | |
when old.—Leigh Lunt. | |
Our favorites are few; since only what rises | |
from the heart reaches it, being caught and | |
enrried on the tongues of men wheresoever love | |
and letters journey.— Alcott. | |
The colleges, whilst they provide us -with | |
libraries, furnish no professors of books; and I | |
thiuk no chair is so much wanted.—Zmerson. | |
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BORES. 61 | |
BRAVERY. | |
BORES. | |
There are some kinds of men who cannot | |
pass their time alone; they are the flails of oceu- | |
pied people.—.V. de Bonald. | |
The secret of making one’s self tiresome is | |
not to know when to stop.—J'oltaire. | |
Tlicre‘are few wild beasts more to be dread- | |
ed than a cominunieative man having nothing | |
to communi ente,—Boree. | |
O, he is as.tedions as is a tired horse, a: rail- | |
ing wife; worse than a smoky house |! — | |
Shakespeare. | |
It is to be hoped that, with all the modern | |
improvements,~a mode willbe discovered of | |
getting rid of bores; for it is too bad that a | |
poor wretch can be punished for stealing your | |
ocket-handkerehicf or gloves, and that no pun- | |
ishhent can be inflicted on those” who steal | |
your time, and with i¢ your temper and pa- | |
tience, as well as the bright thoughts that | |
might have entered into your mind (like the | |
Irishman who lost the fortune before he had got | |
it), but were frightened away by the bore.— | |
Byron. | |
We are almost always wearied in the com- | |
pany of persons with whom we.-are not permit- | |
ted to be weary.—Rochefoucauld. | |
He will steal himself into a man’s favor, | |
and for'a week escape a great deal of discoy- | |
eries; bunt when you find him ont, yon have | |
hin ever after.—Shakespeare. | |
A tedions person is one a man would leap a | |
steeple from.—Ben Jonson. | |
BORROWING. | |
The borrower runs in his own debt.— | |
Emerson. | |
Neither a borrower nora lender be; for loan | |
oft loses both itself and friend, and borrowing | |
dulls the edge of husbandry.— Shakespeare. | |
Getting into debt is getting into a tangle- | |
some net.—Franklin. | |
Charles Lamb, tired of lending his. books, | |
threatened to chain Wordsworth’s poems to his | |
shelves, adding, “For of those who borrow, | |
some read slow; some mean to read, but- don’t | |
read; and some neither read nor mean to read, | |
bit borrow, to leave you-an opinion of their | |
sagacity. I inust do my” moncy-borrowing | |
friends the justice to say, that there is nothing | |
of this caprice or wantonness of alicnation in | |
them. When they borrow my moncy, they | |
never fail to make use of it.”—Zalfourd. | |
The reason why borrowed books are so sel- | |
dom returned. to their owners is that it is much | |
easier to retain the books than’what is in them. | |
. Montaigne. | |
He that would have a short. Lent let him | |
borrow money to he repaid at Kaster.— Franklin, | |
No remedy against this consumption of the | |
purse ; borrowing “only lingers’ and lingers it | |
out, but the disease is incnrable.— Shakespeare. | |
BOUNTY. | |
The snperfluons blossoms ona fruit-tree,are | |
meant to symbolize the large way God loves to | |
do pleasant things.— Beecher. | |
From bounty issues power.—Akenside. | |
BRAINS. | |
The brain is the palest of all the internal | |
organs, and the heart the reddest. Whatever | |
comes from the brain carries the hue of -the | |
place it came from, and whatever comes from | |
the heart carries the heat and color of its birth- | |
place.—LZolmes. | |
When God endowed human beings with | |
brains, he did not intend to guarantee them.— | |
Montesquieu. | |
There are brains so large that they uncon- | |
scionsly swamp all individualities which come | |
in contact or.too near, and brains so sinall that | |
they cannot.take: in the conception oftany other | |
individuality as a whole, only in part or parts.— | |
Mfrs, Jameson. | |
BRAVERY. | |
No man can be brave who considers pain to | |
be the greatest-evil of life; nor temperate, who | |
considers pleasure to be the highest good.— | |
Cicero. | |
A truc knight is fuller of gay bravery in the | |
midst than in the beginning of danger.— | |
. ‘Sir P. Siducy. | |
At the bottom of a good deal of the bravery | |
that-appears in.the world there lurks a miser- | |
able cowardice. “Men will face powder and stecl | |
because they cannot fice public opinion.— | |
Chapin. | |
The best hearts, Trim, are ever the bravest, | |
replied iny uncle Toby.— Sterne. | |
_ Cato the elder, when somebody was praising | |
a man for his foolhardy bravery, said “that | |
‘ there was an essential difference between a.real- | |
ly brave man and one-who had merely a con- | |
tempt for life.”—Plutarch. | |
That is “a valiant flea that dares eat his | |
breakfast on the lip of a lion ! Shakespeare. | |
The brave man is not he who feels no fear, | |
for that were stupid and. irrational; but he | |
whose noble’soul its fear subdues, and bravely | |
dares the danger which it-shrinks from.— | |
Joanna Baillie. | |
Who bravely dares: must sometiines risk a | |
fall.—Smollett. | |
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BREVITY. | |
~62 | |
BREVITY. | |
——— | |
_ .A brave man is clear in his discourse, and | |
keeps close to truth.— Aristotle. | |
_ Brevity is the body and soul of wit. Itis | |
wit ‘itself, for it alone isolates sufficiently for | |
contrasts ; because redundancy or diffuseness | |
Nature often enshrines gallant and noble | produces no distinctions.—Richter. | |
hearts in weak bosoms, — oftenest, God bless | |
her! in female breasts.—Dickens. | |
None but the brave deserve the fair.— | |
Dryden. | |
_ When you introduce a moral lesson, let it be | |
brief Horace. | |
It is the work of faney to enlarge, but of | |
fudgment to shorten and contract; -and_there- | |
The bravery founded upon the hope of recom- | jore this must be as far above .the other as | |
pense, upon the fear of: punishment, upon the ex- | |
perience of success, upon rage, upon ignorance of | |
dangers, is common bravery, and docs not merit | |
the name. True bravery proposes a just end, | |
measures the dangers, and, if itis necessary, the | |
affront, with coldness.—/rancis fa None. | |
BREVITY. | |
Genuine good taste consists in saying much | |
in a few words, in choosing among our | |
thonghts, in having some order and arrange- | |
ment in what-we relate, in speaking with com- | |
posure.—Lenelon. | |
It is execllent discipline for an author to | |
feel that he must say all he has to say in the | |
fewest possible words, or his reader is sure to | |
skip them; and in the plainest possible words, | |
or his reader will certainly misunderstand them. | |
Generally, also, a downright fact: may be told in | |
a plain way; and we want downright facts at | |
present more than anything else.— Ruskin. | |
Brevity is the soul of «wit, and tediousness | |
the limbs and outward flonrishes.—Shakespeare. | |
These are my thoughts;—I might have | |
spmn them out toa greater length, but_I think | |
a little plot of ground thick sown ‘is better than | |
a great field which for the most part of it fies | |
fallow.—Bishop Norris. | |
When aman has no design but to speak | |
plain truth, he may say a great deal in a very | |
narrow compass.—<sSteele. | |
And there is one rare strange virtue in their | |
speeches, the secret of their mastery, — they are | |
short.— Halleck. | |
Brevity is the best recommendation of a | |
-speech, not only-in the ease of“a’senator, but in | |
that, too, of an orator.—Cicero. , | |
Brevity in writing is what charity is to all | |
other virtues, — righteousness is nothing without | |
' the one, nor authorship without the other.— | |
Sydney Smith. | |
Talk to the.point, and stop when yon have | |
reached it. The faculty some possess of mak- | |
ing one idea cover a quire of paper is not good | |
for much. Be comprehensive in all you say or | |
write. To fill a volume upon nothing is a | |
credit to nobody; though Lord Chesterfield | |
wrote a' very clever poem upon nothing. — | |
John Neal. | |
i judgment is a greater and nobler faculty than | |
faney or ibnagination.—South. | |
The one prudenee in life is concentration.— | |
Evnnerson. | |
Rather-to excite your judgment briefly than | |
to inform it tediously.—Bacon. | |
A parsimony of swords prodigal of sense.—~ | |
Disraeli. | |
_ If you would be pungent, be brief; for it is | |
with words as with sunbeams,— the more they | |
are condensed, the deeper they burn.—Southey. | |
Brevity is a.great praise of eloquence. — | |
Cicero. | |
It is not a great Xerxes army of words, but | |
‘a compact Greck ten thousand that march safely | |
down to posterity.—ZLowedl. | |
Aiming at brevity, I become obseure.— | |
Horace. | |
BRIBERY. | |
Judges and senates have been bought for | |
gold.—Pope. | |
Petitions, not sweetened with gold, are but | |
unsavory and oft refused; or, if received, are | |
pocketed, not read.—Afasstnger. | |
And sell the mighty space of our large hon- | |
ors for so much trash as may be grasped thus ? | |
Shakespeare. | |
The universe would not be rich enough to | |
buy the vote of an honest man.—St. Gregory. | |
BROTHERHOOD, | |
Man, man, is thy brother, and thy father is | |
God.—Lamartine. - | |
The era of Christianity, — peace, brother- | |
hood, ‘the Golden Rule as*applied to govern- | |
mental matters—is yet to come, and when it | |
comes, then, and then only, will the future of | |
nations he sure.—Aossuth. | |
Infinite is the help man can yield to man. | |
Carlyle. | |
We-are.members of one great body. Nature | |
planted in us a mutual love, and fitted us for a | |
social life. We must consider that we were | |
born for the good of the whole.—Seneca. | |
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BRUTE. | |
63 | |
BUSINESS. | |
‘We must love men, ere to us they will seem | |
«worthy of our love.— Shakespeare. | |
The race of mankind would perish, did they |do hy being rocked in a cradle. | |
cease to aid cach other. | |
the mother binds the child’s head till | |
Business in a certain sort of men isa: mark | |
of understanding, and they are honored for it. | |
Their souls seck repose-in agitation, -as children | |
They may | |
From the time that} pronounce themselves as serviceable to. their | |
the | friends as tronblesome to themselves. | |
No one | |
moment that some kind assistant wipes the | distributes his moncy-to others, bnt every one | |
death-damp from the brow of the dying, we | |
cannot exist withont mntnal help. All, there- | |
fore, that need aid have a right.to ask it from | |
their fellow-mortuls; no one who holds the | |
power of granting can refuse it without gnilt.— | |
Walter Scott. | |
—.Be kindly affectioned one.to another with | |
brotherly love; in -honor preferring one ‘an- | |
other.— Bible. | |
Nature has inclined us to love men.— Cicero. | |
However wretched a fellow-mortal, may be, | |
he is still a member of our common species.— | |
Seneca. | |
To live is not to live for one’s sclf alone; Iet | |
us help one another.—.enauder. | |
If we love one another, nothing, in truth, | |
can harm ‘us, ‘whatever mischances may’ hap- | |
pen.—Longfellow. | |
The mniverse is but onc great city, full of be- | |
loved ones, divine and human, by nature en- | |
deared to cach other.—£pictetus. 7 | |
Give bread to a stranger, in the name of the | |
universal brotherhooil which binds together all | |
meu under the common father of nature.— | |
. ~ Quintilian. | |
BRUTE. | |
A singular fact, that, when man is -a brute, | |
he is the most sensual and loathsome of all | |
brutes.—Lawthorne. | |
Notwithstanding that natural love in brates | |
is much more violent and intense than in ration- | |
al ereatures, Providence has taken care that it | |
should be no longer troublesome to the parent | |
than itis useful to the young; for so soon.as | |
the wants of the latter cease, the mother | |
withdraws her fondness, and leaves them to | |
provide for themselves. —Addison. | |
BURLESQUE. | |
What caricature is in painting, burlesque is | |
in writing; and in the same manner the conic | |
writer and painter correlate to each other ; as | |
in the former, the painter seems to have the | |
advantage, so it is in the latter infinitely on the | |
side of the writer. For the monstrous is mach | |
easicr to paint than describe, and the ridiculous | |
to describe than paint.—/ielding. | |
BUSINESS. | |
Formerly, when great fortunes were only | |
made in war, war was a business; but now, | |
when great fortunes are only made by business, | |
business is war.—DBovee. | |
therein distributes lis time and his life. There | |
is nothing of which we are so prodigal as of | |
those two things, of which to be thrifty would | |
bé both commendable and useful.—Jfontaigne. | |
A man who cannot mind his own business | |
is not.fit to be trusted with the king’s.—Saville, | |
Success in business is seldom. owing to wn- | |
common talents or original power which is | |
untractable and self-wilted, but to the greatest | |
degree of commonplace eapacity.—Lazlit. | |
To business that we love, we tise betime | |
and go to it with delight.—Shukespeare. | |
Rare almost as great poets, rarer, perhaps, | |
than yeritable saints and martyrs, are consnm- | |
mate men of business. A:man, to be excellent : | |
in this way, requires a great -knowledge of | |
character, with that exquisite tact which feels | |
unerringly-the right snoment when to act. A | |
discreet rapidity must pervade all the move- | |
ments of his thought and action. He mnst be | |
singularly free from vanity, and is generally | |
found to be an enthusiast who has the art’ to | |
conecal his enthusiasm.— Helps. | |
The Christian must not only mind Heaven, | |
hut attend to his daily calling. © Like the pilot | |
who, while his eye is fixed upon the star, keeps | |
his hand upon the helm.—fev. 7. Watson. | |
Every man has business and desire, such as | |
it is—Shakespeare. | |
‘To men addicted to delights, business is an in- | |
terruption ; to such as are cold to delights, busi- | |
ness Is an entertainment. For which reason it | |
was said to one who commended a.dulbman for | |
his application, “ No thanks to him; if he had | |
no business he would have nothing to do.”— | |
Steele. | |
The old proverb about having too many | |
irons in the fire is'an abominable old lic. | |
Have all in, shovel, tongs, and poker.— | |
Adaw Clarke. | |
It is very sad for a man to make himself | |
servant to a thing, his manhooll all taken ont | |
of him by the hydrantic pressure of ‘excessive | |
business. I shonld not like to be merely a great | |
doctor, a great lawyer, a-great minister, a great | |
politician, — I should like to be also something | |
ofa man.—Theodore Parker | |
—_ ' | |
Men of great jiarts are often unfortunate in | |
the management of public business beeanse they | |
fare apt to go ont of the common road by the | |
quickness of their imagination. —Suyft. | |
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BUSYBODY. , | |
64 | |
4 | |
CALUMNY. | |
Call on a business man at business times | |
only, and on business; transact your business | |
and go about your business, in order to give | |
him time to finish his business.— | |
Duke of Wellington. | |
Stick to your legitimate business, Do not | |
go into ontside operations. Few men have | |
brains enough for more than one business. To | |
dabble in stocks, to put a few thousand dollars | |
into a mine, and a few more into a mannfactory, | |
and a few more into an invention, is enongh to | |
ruin any man. Be content with fair returns. | |
Do not become greedy. Do not think that men | |
are happy in proportion as they are rich, and | |
therefore do not aim too high. Be content with | |
moderate wealth. Make friends. A time will | |
come when all the money in the world will not | |
he worth to you so much as one good stanch | |
friend.— Beecher. | |
I do not give, but Jend myself to business.— | |
Seneca. | |
The great secret both of health and snecess- | |
ful industry is the absolute yielding np of one’s | |
consciousness to the business and diversion of | |
the hour, — never permitting the one to in- | |
fringe in the least degree upon the other.— | |
Sismondi. | |
There are in business three things necessary, | |
— knowledge, temper, and time.—reltham. | |
BUSYBODY. | |
They Icarn to be idle, wandering about from’ | |
house to honse; and not only idle, but tattlers | |
also, and busybodies, speaking things which | |
they onght not.—Bible. | |
A person who is too nice an observer of the | |
business of the’ crowd, like one who is too | |
curions in observing the Inbor of the bees, will | |
often be stung for his curiosity.—Pope. | |
In private life I never knew any one inter- | |
fere with other people’s disputes, but that he | |
heartily repented of it.—Zord Carlisle. | |
Always ocenpied with others’ duties, never | |
with our own, alas ! —Joubert. | |
He is a treacherous supplanter. and under- | |
miner of the peace of all families and societies. | |
This being a maxim of an unfailing truth, that | |
nobody ever pries into another man’s eoncerns | |
but with adesign to do, or to be able to do him | |
a mischief.— South. | |
His tongue, like the tail of Samson’s foxes, | |
carries firebrands, and is enough to set the whole | |
field of the world on a flame. Himself begins | |
table-talk of his neighbor at another’s board, to | |
whom he bears the first news, and adjures him | |
to conceal the reporter; whose eholcric answer | |
he returns to his first. host, enlarged with a | |
second edition ; so as it used to be done in the | |
fight of unwilling mastiffs, he claps each on | |
the side apart, and provokes them to an eager | |
conflict.— Bishop Hall. | |
Hare you so much leisure from your own | |
business that you ean take care of other peo- | |
ple’s that does not at all belong to you ?— | |
Terence. | |
A person who constantly meddles to no pur- | |
pose means to do harm, and is not sorry to find | |
he has suceeeded.— Hazlitt. | |
©. | |
CALAMITIES. | |
Times of general calamity and confusion | |
have ever been productive of the greatest | |
minds. The purest ore is produced from the | |
hottest furnace, and the brightest thunderbolt is | |
elicited from the darkest storm.—Colton. | |
Know, he that foretells his own calamity, | |
and makes events before they come, twice over | |
doth endure the pains of evil destiny.— | |
Sw W. Davenant. | |
It is only from the belief of the goodness | |
and wisdom of a Supreme Being that our | |
calamities can be borne in that manner which | |
becomes a man.—Jfackenzte. | |
Calamity is man’s true touchstone.— | |
Beaumont and Fletcher. | |
CALUMNY. | |
His ealumny is not only the greatest benefit | |
a rogue can confer on us, but the only service | |
he will perform for nothing.—Lavater. | |
Be thon as chaste as ice, as pure as snow, | |
thon shalt not escape calumny.— Shakespeare. | |
Like the tiger,-that seldom desists from pur- | |
suing man after having once preyed upon | |
lnman flesh, the reader who has once gratified | |
his appetite with calumny makes ever after the | |
most agreeable feast upon murdered reputation ! | |
Coldsmith, | |
T never listen to calumnies, because if they | |
are witrne I run the risk of being deceived, and | |
if they be true, of hating persons not worth | |
thinking about.—Afontesquieu. | |
Calumniators are those who have neither | |
good hearts nor good understandings. We | |
ought not to think ill of any one till we have | |
palpable proof; and even then we should not | |
expose them to others.—Colton. | |
Calumny will sear virtue itself: these shrugs, | |
these hums and ha’s.—Shakespeare. | |
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CALUMNY. 65 | |
CANT. | |
Who stabs my name would stab my person | |
To persevere in one’s duty and to be silent | |
too, did not the hangman’s wxe lie in the way.— | is the hest answer to ealumny.— Washington. | |
Crown. | |
Calumuy is .a.monstrous vice; for, where | |
parties indulge in.it, there! are,always two that | |
are actively engaged in doing wrong, and one | |
who is subject to injury. The calmnniator | |
inflicts wrong by slandering the absent; he | |
who gives credit to the ealumny before he has | |
investigated the trnth is equally implicated. | |
The person traduced is doubly injured, — first | |
by him who propagates, and secondly by him | |
who credits, the ealuimy.—Jferodotus. | |
Back-wounding calumny the whitest virtue, | |
strikes.— Shakespeare. | |
Close thine ear against him that shall open | |
his mouth secretly against auother: if thon | |
reecive not his words, they fly back and wound | |
the reporter; if thon receive them, they flee | |
forward and Wound the receiver.— Quarles. | |
There are calumnies against which even in- | |
nocence loses courage.— Napoleon. | |
It is like the Greek fire used in ancient war- | |
fare, which burnt unquenched beneath the water ; | |
or like the weeds which, when you have extir- | |
pated them in one place, ave sprouting forth | |
.vigorously in another spot, -at the distance of | |
many hundred yards; or, to use the metaphor | |
of St. James, it is like the wheel which catches | |
fireias it goes, and burns with fiercer conflagra- | |
tion as its own speed incresses.— | |
F. TW. Robertson. | |
Calumny is only the noise of madmen.— | |
Diogenes. | |
Calumny is like the wasp which worries-you, | |
and which it is not best to try to get rid of | |
unless you are sure of slaying it; for otherwise | |
it returns to the charge more furious than cver. | |
Chamfort. | |
Iam beholden to Cahimny, that she hath | |
so endeavored and taken pains to belie ine. Tt | |
shall make me set a surer guard on myself,fand | |
keep a better watch upon my actions.— | |
Ben Jonson. | |
The eclebrated Boerhaave, who lad many | |
enemies; used to say that he never thonght it | |
necessary to repeat their calumnies. “ They | |
are sparks,” said he, “which, if you do not | |
blow them, will go out of themselves.” — Disraeli. | |
Those who ought to be secure from calumny | |
are generally those who avoid it least.— | |
Stanislaus. | |
He that lends an easy and credulous ear to | |
calumny is either a man of very ill morals or | |
has no more sense and understanding than a | |
child.—Menander. . | |
5 | |
The pure in heart are slow to credit calum- | |
nies, because they hardly comprehend what | |
motives can be inducements to the -alleged | |
evimes.—June Porter. | |
Cutting honest throats by whispers. — | |
7 | |
§Valter Scott, | |
CANDOR. | |
I can promise to be candid, but I cannot | |
promise to be impartial.— Goethe. | |
‘Fine speeches are the instrnments of knaves | |
or fools that use them, when they want good | |
) sense; but honesty needs no disguise nor orna- | |
ment: be plain.—Oteay. | |
Candor is the brightest gem of criticism.— | |
’ Disraeli. | |
He who, when called npon to speak a disa- | |
gyeeable truth, tells"it boldly and has done, is | |
both bolder and milder than he who uibbles in | |
a low voice, and never ceases nibbling. — | |
Lavater. | |
It is-great, itis manly, to disdain disguise ; | |
it shows our spirit, or it proves our streugth.— | |
Young. | |
J hold it cowardice to rest mistrustful where | |
a noble heart hath pawned an open hand in sign | |
of love.—Shakespeure. | |
A man should never be ashamed to own he | |
has heen inthe wrong, which is but saying, in | |
other words, tliat he is wiser to-day than he was | |
yesterday.— Pope. | |
Making my breast transparent as pure crys- | |
tal, that the world, jealous of me, may see the | |
foulest thought my heart doth hold.— | |
Buckinghum. | |
CANT. | |
Is not cant the materia prima of the Devil, | |
from which all falsehoods, imbecilities, abomi- | |
nations, body themselves; from which no true | |
thing can come? For cant is itself properly a | |
donble-distilled lie, the second power of a lie— | |
Carlyle. | |
Those people are often the least worldly on | |
whom they who make the loudest boast of their | |
unworldliness seek basely to affix that oppro- | |
brions epithet. For they walk the world with | |
a heart pure-as it is cheerful; they are, by that | |
unpretending purity, saved from infection ; -as | |
there ave as many fair“and healthy faces to be | |
seen in the smoke and ‘stir of cities as in the | |
rural wilds, so also are there as many fair and | |
houlthy spirits.—-Professor SVilson. | |
Cant-is the voluntary overcharging or pro- | |
longiition of a real sentiment; hypocrisy is the | |
setting up:2 pretension to a feeling you never | |
had and have no wish for.—Hazlitt. | |
+h | |
--- Chunk 1, Page 84 --- | |
CARE. | |
66 | |
CASTLES. | |
CARE. | |
All cares appear as large again as they are, | |
owing to their emptiness and darkness ; it is so | |
with the grave.——Hichter. | |
Second-hand cares, like second-hand clothes, | |
come easily off and on.—Dickens. | |
Men do not-avail themselves of the riches of | |
God’s grace. They love to nurse their cares, | |
and seem as uneasy without some fret as an old | |
friar would be without his hair girdle. They | |
are commanded to cast their cares upon the | |
Lord ; but even when they attempt it, they do | |
not fail to catch them up again, and think it | |
meritorious to walk burdened.—Beecher. | |
Care keeps his wateh in every old man’s eye. | |
Shakespeare. | |
Quick is the succession of human events ; | |
the cares of to-day are seldom the cares of to- | |
morrow ; and when we lie down at night we | |
may safely say to most of our troubles, Ye | |
have done your worst, and we shal] meet no | |
more.— Cowper. | |
Our cares-are the mothers, not only of our | |
charities and virtues, but of our best joys and | |
most cheering. and enduring pleasures— Simms. | |
Care, admitted as guest, quickly turns to be | |
master.— Bovee. | |
Care seeks out wrinkled brows and hollow | |
eyes, and builds himself caves to abide in them. | |
Beaumont and Fletcher. | |
Care is no cure, but rather corrosive for | |
things that are not to be remedied. — Shakespeare. | |
Cares are often more difficult to throw off | |
than sorrows ; the latter die with time, the for- | |
mer grow upon it.—Richier, | |
To carry care to bed is to sleep with a pack | |
on your back.—Haliburton. | |
Providence has given us hope and sleep as a | |
compensation for the many cares of life. | |
. Voltaire. | |
O polished perturbation! golden care that | |
keepest the ports of slumber open wide to many | |
a watchful night !—Shakespeare. | |
CARICATURE. | |
Nothing conveys a more inaccurate idea of | |
a whole truth than a part of a truth so promi- | |
nently brought forth as to throw the other | |
parts into shadow. This is the art of caricature ; | |
and by the happy _use of that art you might | |
caricature the Apollo Belvidere. | |
Bulwer Lytton. | |
The only good copies are those which point | |
out the ridicule of bad originals.— | |
Rochefoucauld. | |
The great moral satirist, Hogarth, was once | |
drawiug in a room where many of his friends | |
were assembled, and among them my mother. | |
She was then a very young woman. <As she | |
stood by Hogarth, she expressed a wish to | |
learn to draw caricature. ‘Alas; young lady,” | |
said Hogarth, “it is not a faculty to be envied! | |
Take my advice, and never draw caricature; | |
by the long practice of it, I have lost the enjoy- | |
ment of bheanty. I never sec a face but dis- | |
torted ; I never have the satisfaction to behold | |
the human face divine.” ‘We may suppose that | |
such language from Hogarth would come with | |
great effect; his manner was very earnest, and | |
the confession is well deserving of remembrance. | |
Bishop Sandford. | |
A farce is that in poetry which grotesque | |
(earicature) is in painting. The persons and | |
actions of a farce are all unnatural, and the | |
manners false, that is, inconsistent -with the | |
characters of mankind ; and grotesque painting | |
is the just resemblance of this.—Dryden. | |
CASTLES IN THE AIR. | |
Charming Alnaschar visions! it is the hap- | |
py privilege of youth to construct you.— | |
Thackeray. | |
If you have built castles in the air, your | |
work need not be lost; that is where they | |
should be. Now put the foundations under | |
them.— Thoreau. | |
A sigh can shatter a castle in the air.— | |
W. R. Alger. | |
Happy season of virtnous youth, when | |
shame is stil! an impassable barrier, and the | |
sacred air-cities of hope have not shrunk into | |
the mean clay hamlets of reality; and man, by | |
his nature, is yet infinite and free— Carlyle. | |
Leave glory to great folks. Ah, eastles in | |
thetair cost a vast deal to keep up ! — | |
Bulwer Lytton. | |
In all assemblies, though you wedge them | |
ever so close, we may observe this peculiar prop- | |
erty, that over their heads there js room enough ; | |
but how to reach it is the difficult point. ‘To | |
this end the philosopher’s way in all ages has | |
been by erecting certain edifices in the air.— | |
No tribute is laid on castles in the air.— | |
Churchill. | |
Ever building, building to the clouds, still | |
building higher, and never reflecting that the | |
poor narrow basis cannot sustain the giddy tot- | |
tering column.— Schiller. | |
Thus we build on the ice, thus We write on | |
the waves of the sea; the waves roaring pass | |
away, the ice melts, and‘away goes our palace, | |
like our thoughts.—Herder, | |
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CAUSE. 67 | |
CEREMONY. | |
CAUSE. | |
I would seck unto God, and unto God would | |
Tcomimit my cause.— ible. | |
Small causes are sufficient to make a man | |
uneasy, when great ones are not in the way; | |
for want of & blotk, he will stumble at a straw. | |
God befriend us, as our cause is just ! — | |
Shakespeare. | |
A noble canse doth ease much ‘a grievous | |
case. —Sir P. Sidney. | |
CAUTION. | |
Man’s cantion often into danger turns, and | |
his guard falling ernshes him to death.— Young. | |
Pitchers have ears.— Shakespeare. | |
The bird alighteth not on the spread net | |
when it beholds another bird in the snare. | |
Take warning by the misfortunes of others, | |
that others may not take example from you.— | |
: Saadi. | |
Allis to be feared where all is to be lost.— | |
Byron. | |
When you have need of a.needle, you move | |
your tingers delieately, with a wise caution. | |
se the same precaution with the inevitable | |
duluess of life; give attention; keep yourself | |
from imprudent precipitation ; and do not tdke | |
it by the point.—Zance. | |
When clouds are scen, wise men put on | |
their cloaks.— Shakespeare. | |
Open your month and purse cautiously, an | |
your stock of wealth and reputation shall, at | |
least in repute, be great.—Zimmermann. | |
It isa good thing to learn cantion by the | |
misfortunes of others.—Publius Syrus. " | |
CELERITY, | |
“There is a medium between velocity and tor- | |
nity ; the Italians say it is not necessary to | |
‘be a stag, but we ought not to be a tortoise.— | |
Disraeli. | |
There is no seerecy comparable to celerity, | |
like the motion of-a bullet in the air which flieth | |
so swift, it ontruns the eye—Bacon. | |
CENSURE. | |
Censure is the tax-a man pays to the public | |
for being eminent.— Swift. | |
Horace appears in, good-humor while he | |
censures, and therefore his censure has the more | |
weight, as supposed to proceed from judgment, | |
not from passion.— Young. . | |
The readiest and surest way to get rid of | |
censure is to correct ourselves. —Demosthenes. | |
The censure of those that are opposite to us | |
is the nicest commendation that can be viven us. | |
. St. Evremond. | |
To arrive at perfection, 2 man shonld have | |
very sineere friends, or inveterate cnemies ; be- | |
cause he would b2 made seusible of his good or | |
ill conduct cither by the censures of the one or | |
the admonitions of the others.—Diogenes. | |
The villain’s censure is extorted praise. — | |
Pope. | |
Theré ‘are but three ways for a man to re- | |
venge himself of the censure of the world, — to | |
despise it, to return the Itke, or to endeavor to | |
live so as to avoid it; the first of these is usually | |
pretended, the last is almost impossible, the | |
universal practice is for the second.— Suv. | |
The death of censure 1s the death of genius. | |
Stnuus. | |
It is a folly for an eminent man to think of | |
escaping censure, and & weakness to be atfected | |
with it. All the illustrious persons of antiqui- | |
ty, and indeed of every age in the world, have | |
passed through this fiery perseentiun. There is | |
no defence against reproach but obscurity ; it is | |
a kind of concomitant to greatness, as satires | |
aud invectives were an essential part of a Ro- | |
man triumph.— Addison. | |
Few persons have sufficient wisdom to prefer | |
censure which is useful to them to praise which | |
deceives them.—Rochefoucauld. . | |
Plutarch tells ns of an idle. and effeminate | |
Etrurian who found fault with the manner | |
in which Themistocles had conducted a recent | |
campaign. “ What,” said the hero in reply, | |
“have you, too, something to say about war, | |
who are like the fish that has a sword, but no | |
heart?” He is always the severest censor on | |
the merits of others who has the least worth of | |
his own.—E. L. Magoon. | |
Tt is harder to avoid censure than to gain | |
applause ; for this may be done by one great or | |
wise action in an age. But to escape censure, a | |
man must pass his whole life without saying or | |
doing one ill or foolish thing. —ZZume. | |
Some men’s censures are like the blasts of | |
rams’ horns before: the walls of Jericho; all a | |
man’s fame they lay level at one struke, when | |
all they go upon is only conceit, without any | |
certain basis —J. Beaumont. | |
CEREMONY. | |
When love begins to sicken and decay it | |
useth an enforced ceremony.—Shakespeare. | |
If we use no ceremony towards others, we | |
shall be treated withont any. People are soon | |
tired of paying trifling attentions to those who | |
receive them with coldness, ‘and return them | |
with neglect.—Haalitt. | |
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CEREMOXY. | |
68 | |
CHANCE. | |
It is superstition to repose our eonfidence in | |
forms and ceremonies; but not to submit to | |
them is pride.—Paseal. | |
Mankind are fond of inventing certain sol- | |
emn and sounding expressions which appear to | |
convey much, and in reality mean little; words | |
thatare the proxies of absent thoughts, and, | |
like other proxies, add nothing to atgument, | |
while they turn the scales of decision.— Shelley. | |
To dispense with ceremony is the most deli- | |
cate mode of conferring a compliment.— | |
Bulwer Lytton, | |
All ceremonies are in themselves very silly | |
things, but yet a man of the world should know | |
them. They are the ontworks of manners and | |
decency, which would be too often broken in | |
upon if it were not for that defence which keeps | |
the encmy at a proper distance.—Chesterfield. | |
Ceremonies are different in every country ; | |
but true politeness is everywhere the same.— | |
Goldsmith. | |
Ceremony was but devised at first to set a | |
gloss on famt deeds, — hollow welcomes, recant- | |
ing goodness, sorry ¢’er ir is shown ; but where | |
there i$ true friendship there needs none.— | |
Shakespeare. | |
Of what use are forms, seeing that at times | |
they are empty? Of the sane use as barrels, | |
which at times are empty too.—Hare. | |
Truth and ceremony are two things.— | |
Marcus Antoninus. | |
T do not love much ecremony ; suits in love | |
should not, like suits in law, be rocked from | |
term to term.—Siurley. | |
O ceremony, show me but thy worth! art | |
thou anght else but place, degree, and form, | |
ereating fear and awe in other men 7— | |
: Shakespeare. | |
As ceremony is the invention of wise men to | |
keep fools ata distance, so good breeding is an | |
expedient to make fools and wise men equals.— | |
Steele. | |
No ashes are lighter than those of incense, | |
and few things burn out sooner.—LZandor. | |
Everything that tends to emancipate us from | | |
external restraint without adding to our own | |
power of self-government is misehievous.— | |
Goethe. | |
- Ceremony is necessary as the outwork and | |
defence of manners.— Chesterfield. | |
Ceremony keeps up things ; it is like a peany | |
glass to a rich spirit, or some excellent water ; | |
without it the water were spilt, and the spirit | |
lost.— Selden. | |
There are ceremonious bows that throw you | |
to a greater distance than the wrong end of any | |
telescope.—Ruffini, . | |
CHANCE. | |
There is no doubt such a thing as chance, | |
but I see no reason why Providence should not | |
make use of it.— Simms. | |
Chance is a’ term we apply to events to de- | |
note that they happen without any necessary or | |
foreknown cause. When we say a thing hap- | |
pens by chance, we mean no more than that its | |
cause is unknown to us, and not, as some vain- | |
ly imagine, that chanee itself can be the cause | |
of anything.—C. Buck. | |
There are chords in the human heart — | |
strange varying strings — which are only struck | |
by accident; which will remain mute and sense- | |
less to appeals the most passionate and earnest, | |
and respond at last to the slightest casual touch. | |
In the most insensible or childish minds there | |
is some train of reflection which art can seldom | |
Yead or skill «assist, but which will reveal itself, | |
as great truths have done, by chance, and when | |
the discoverer has the plainest and simplest end | |
in view.—Dickens. | |
Chance is but the psendonyme of God for | |
those particular eases which he does not choose | |
to subseribe openly with his own sign-manual.— | |
Coleridge. | |
Surely no man can reflect, without wonder, | |
upon the vicissitudes of human life arising from | |
causes in the highest degree accidental and tri- | |
fling. If you trace the necessary concatenation | |
of human events a ‘very little way back, you | |
may perhaps discover that a person’s very going | |
in or ont of a door has been the means of color- | |
ing with misery or happiness the remaining cur- | |
rent of his life—Lord Greville. | |
The mines of knowledge are oft laid bare | |
through the forked hazel wand of chance.— | |
Tupper. | |
= | |
Chanee never writ a legible book ; chance | |
never built a fair house; chanee never drew a | |
neat picture; it never did any of these things, | |
nor ever will; nor can it be without absurdity | |
supposed able to do them; which yet arc works | |
yery gross and rude, very easy and feasible, as | |
it were, in comparison to the produetion of a | |
flower or a tree.— Burrow. | |
Chance corrects ns of many faults that rea- | |
son would not know how to correct.— | |
Rochefoucauld. | |
Chance is always powerful; let your hook | |
always be cast. Ina pool where yon Jeast ex- | |
péet it there will be a fish Ovid. | |
There is no such thing as chance; and what | |
scems to us merest aceident springs from the | |
deepest source of destiny.—Schiller. | |
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CHANGE. | |
69 | |
CHARACTER. | |
The generality of men have, like plants, la- | |
tent properties, which chance brings to light.— | |
Rochefoucauld. | |
Many shining actions owe their success to | |
chance thongh the ‘general or statesman ‘runs | |
away with the applause.—IZeny Lome. | |
Be not too presumptnously sure in-any busi- | |
ness for things of this world depend upon such | |
a train of nnseen chances that if it were in | |
man’s hands to set the tables, yet is he not cer- | |
tain to win the game.— George Lferbert. | |
How often‘events, by chance, and unexpect- | |
edly, come. to pass, which you had not dared | |
even to hope for ! —Terence. | |
CHANGE. | |
The world is a scene of changes, and to be | |
constant in nature were inconstancy. — Cowley. | |
We do not know cither unalloyed happiness | |
or unmitigated misfortune. Everything in this | |
world is a tangled yarn ; we taste nothing in its | |
purity, we do not remain two moments in the | |
sane state. Our affections, as well ‘as bodies, | |
are in a perpetual flux.—Rousseau. | |
What I possess I would gladly retain ; | |
change amuses the mind, yet scareely profits.— | |
- Goethe. | |
Naught may endure but mutability .— | |
. Shelley. | |
Perfection is immutable. But for things im- | |
perfect, change is the way to perfect them. It | |
-gets the name of wilfulness when it will not adinit | |
of a lawful change to the better. Therefore | |
constancy without knowledge cannot be always | |
good. Tn things ill itis not virtuc, but an abso- | |
Inte viec.—-Feltham. | |
In the same brook none ever bathed him | |
twice; to the same life none ever twice awoke. | |
Young. | |
All things human change.—Tennyson. | |
CHARACTER. | |
To know'a people’s character, we must see | |
it at its homes, and look chiefly.to the *humbler | |
abodes, where that portion of the people dwells | |
which makes the broad basis of the national | |
prosperity.—A‘ossuth, | |
There are beauties of character which, like | |
the night-blooming Cereus, are closed against | |
the ghire and turbulence of every-day life, and | |
bloom only in shade and solitude, and beneath | |
the quiet stars.— Tuckerman. | |
_ Should‘any man tell yon that a mountain | |
had changed its place, you are at liberty to | |
doubt it if you think fit; but if any one tells | |
you that a man has changed his character, do | |
not believe it—AZahomet. — ~ i | |
The craft with which the world is made runs | |
also into the mind and character of meu. No | |
man is qnite sane; each has & vein of folly in | |
his composition, a stight determination of blood | |
to the head, to make sure of holding him hard | |
to some one point which Nature las taken to | |
heart.— Emerson. | |
Character is very much a matter of health.— | |
Bovee. | |
Some characters are like some bodies in | |
chemistry ; very good, perhaps, in themselves, | |
yet fly off and refuse the least conjunction with | |
each other.—Lord Greville, | |
Actions, looks, words, steps, form the alpha- | |
bet by which you may spell character.— | |
. Lavater. | |
Character is always known. Thefts never | |
enrich; alms never impoverish; murder will | |
speak out of stone walls. The least ‘admixture | |
of ta lie — for example, the taint of vanity, any | |
attempt to make a good impression, a favorable | |
appearance — will instantly vitiate the effect. | |
But speak the truth, and all nature and all spir- | |
its help you with unexpected furtherance — | |
Emerson. | |
Circumstances form the character; but, like | |
petrifying matters, they harden while they | |
form.—Landor. | |
Instead of saying that man is the creature of | |
cireumstance, it would be nearer the mark to | |
say that man is the architect of circumstance. | |
It is character which builds an existence out | |
of circumstance. Our strength is measured by | |
onr plastic power. From the same materials | |
one man builds palaces, ‘another hovels; one | |
warehouses, another villas; bricks and mortar | |
are mortar and bricks, until the architect can | |
make them something else.—Carlyle. | |
Character is a perfectly educated will._— | |
. Novalis, | |
People of gloomy, uncheerful imaginations, | |
or of cnvions, malignant tempers, whatever | |
kind of life they‘are engaged in, will discover | |
their natural tincture of mind in all their | |
thoughts, words, ‘and ‘actions. As the finest | |
wines have often the taste of the soil, so even | |
the most religions thoughts often draw some- | |
thing that is particular from the constitution of | |
the mind in which they arise —<Addison. | |
All men are alike in their lower natures ; it | |
is m their higher characters that they differ — | |
Bovee. | |
Never get a reputation fora small perfection | |
if yon are trying for fame in a lofticr area, The | |
world can only judge by generals, and it sees | |
that those who pay considerable attention to | |
minuti« seldom pave their minds oceupicd with | |
great things.—Bulwer Lytton. | |
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CHARACTER, | |
70 | |
CHARACTER. | |
The effect of characteris always to command | |
consideration. We sport and toy and langh | |
with men or women:who have none, but we | |
never confide in therm.— Simms. | |
Some men, like pictures, are fitter for a cor- | |
ner than a full light Seneca. | |
Duke Chartres used to boast that no man | |
conld have less real value for character than | |
himself, yet he wonld gladly give twenty thon- | |
sand pounds for a good one, because he conld | |
immediately make double that sum by means of | |
it.— Colton. | |
The great hope of society is individual char- | |
-acter.— Channing. | |
Ordinary people regard a man of a certain | |
force and inflexibility of character as they do a | |
lion. They look at him with a-sort of wonder, | |
perhaps they admire him; but they will on no | |
account house with him.—MWerkel. | |
Weakness of character is the only defect which | |
cannot be amended.—Kochefoucauld. | |
The two most precious things this side the | |
grave are our reputation and our life. But it is | |
to be lamented that the moSt contemptible whis- | |
per may deprive us of the one, and the weakest | |
weapon of the other.— Colton. | |
Give me the character and I will forecast the | |
event. Character, it has in substance been said, | |
is “ victory organized.”—Bovee. | |
The only equitable manner, in my opinion, | |
of judging the character of a man is to exam- | |
ine if there are personal calenlations in his con- | |
duct; if there are not, we may blame his man- | |
ner of judging, but we are not the less bound to | |
esteem him.— Madame de Staél. | |
There are peculiar ways in men, which dis- | |
cover what they: are through the most subtle | |
feints and close disguises.— Bruyere. | |
Aman is known to his dog by the smell, | |
to his tailor by the coat, to his friend by the | |
smile; each of these know. bim, but how little | |
or how much depends on the dignity of the in- | |
telligence. That which is truly and indeed | |
characteristic of the man is known only to God. | |
Ruskin. | |
It is a quick and soft touch of many strings, | |
all shutting up in one musical close ; it is wit’s | |
descant on any plain song.—Sir 7. Overbury. | |
We are sometimes as different from ourselves | |
as we are from others.— Rochefoucauld. | |
Exch man forms his duty according to his | |
predominant characteristic ; the stern require an | |
‘avenging judge ; the gentle, a forgiving father. | |
Just so the pygmies declared that Jove himself | |
was a pygmy.—Bulwer Lytton. | |
Characters never change. Opinions alter, — | |
characters are only developed.—Disraeli. | |
A good character is, in all cases, the fruit of | |
personal exertion. It is not inherited from par- | |
ents, itis not created by external advantages, | |
it 1s no necessary appendage of birth, wealth, | |
talents, or station; but it is the result of one’s | |
own endeavors.—iawes. | |
Best men are moulded out of fanlts.— | |
Shakespeare. | |
Joy and grief decide character. What ex- | |
alts prosperity? what imbitters grief? what | |
leaves us indifferent? what interests ns? As | |
the interest of man, so his God,—‘s his God, | |
so he.—Lavater. | |
This is that which we call character, — a re- | |
served force which acts directly by presence, and | |
without means.—Lmerson. | |
We should not he too hasty in bestowing | |
either our praise or censure on mankind, since | |
we shall often find snch a mixture of good and | |
evil in the same character, that it may require a | |
yery accurate judginent-and a very elaborate in- | |
quiry to determine on which side the balance | |
turns.— Fielding. | |
What is the true test of character, unless it | |
be its progressive development in the bustle and | |
turmoil, in the action and reaction, of daily | |
life 1 — Goethe. | |
We must have a weak spot or two in a char- | |
acter before we can love it much. People that do | |
not laugh or cry, or take more of anything than | |
is good for them, or use anything but dictionary | |
words, ‘are admirable subjects for biographies. | |
But we don’t always care most for those flat- | |
pattern flowers that press best in the herbarium. | |
Holmes. | |
The most brilliant qualities become useless | |
when they are not sustained by force of charac- | |
ter.—Ségur> | |
Character is the spiritual body of the person, | |
and represents the individualization of vital ex- | |
perience, the conversion of unconscious things | |
into selfeonscious men.— Whipple. | |
Every man has in himself.a contment of un- | |
discovered character. Happy is he. who acts the | |
Columbus to his own soul.—Sir J. Stephens. | |
A man’s character is the reality of himself; his | |
reputation, the opinion others have formed | |
about him; character resides in him, reputa- | |
tion in other people; that is the substance, this | |
is the shadow.— Beecher. | |
Gross and obscene natures, however decorat- | |
ed, seem impure shambles; but character gives | |
splendor to youth, and awe to wrinkled ‘skin | |
and gray hairs.—Zmerson. | |
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CHARACTER. | |
71 | |
CHARACTER. | |
Fine natures are like fine pocms ; a glance at | |
the first. two lines suffices for a-guess into the | |
beauty that waits you if you read on.— | |
Bulwer Lytton. | |
It is an error common to many to take the | |
character of mankind from the worst and basest | |
amongst them; whereas, as an excellent writer | |
has observed, nothing should be. esteemed as | |
characteristieal of a species but what is to be | |
found amongst the best and the most perfect in- | |
dividuals of that species. —F ielding. | |
The niost striking characters are sometimes | |
the product of an infinity of little accidents.— | |
Danton. | |
Tt is a common error, of which a-wise man | |
will beware, to measure the worth of our neigh- | |
hor by his condnet towards ourselves. How | |
many rich souls might we not rejoice in the | |
knowledge of, were it not for our’pride !— | |
Richter. | |
Character is a wish for a perfect education.— | |
Novalis. | |
The noblest contribution which any man | |
ean make for the benefit of posterity is that of a | |
good character. The richest bequest which any | |
man can leaye to the yonth of his native Jand | |
is that of a shining, spotless example.— | |
Winthrop. | |
Strong characters are brought out by change | |
of situation, and gentle ones by permanence.— | |
Richter. | |
Only what we have wrought into our char- | |
acter during life can we take away with ns.— | |
Withelm von Humboldt. | |
‘Most natnres are insolyent; cannot ‘satisfy | |
their own wants, have an:ambition out ofall | |
proportion to their practical force, and so do | |
Jean and beg day and night continually.— | |
Emerson. | |
Character, like poreelain ware, must be | |
printed before it is glazed. There can be no | |
change after it is burned in.—Beecher. | |
Character is what nature has engraven in | |
ns; can we then efluce it ?— Voltaire. | |
Remedy your deficiencies, and your merits | |
will take care of themselves. Every man has | |
in him good and evil. lis good is his valiant | |
army, his evil is-his corrupt commissariat; re- | |
form the commissariat, and the-army will do its | |
duty.—Bulwer Lytton. | |
Certain trifling flaws sit as dixgracefully on | |
a character of clerrance asa rageed button on'a | |
court dress.—Lavater. . | |
The fine tints and flnent cnrves which con- | |
stitute beauty of character.—Bulcer Lytton. | |
It is amusing to detect character in. the vo- | |
eabulary of cach person. The adjectives habit- | |
nally used, like the inseriptions on a thermome- | |
ter, indicate the temperament. Zuckerman. | |
Say not you know another entirely till you | |
have divided an inheritance with him.— | |
Lavater. | |
Itis not what a man gets, but what a. man | |
is, that he should think of. Te should first | |
think of his character, and then of his condi- | |
tion. He that has character need have no fears | |
about his condition. Character will draw after | |
it condition. Circumstances obey principles.— | |
eecher. | |
As yonr enemies and your friends, so :are | |
you.—Lavater. | |
Talents are nurtured best in solitude, but | |
character on life’s tempestuons sea.— Goethe. | |
The amiable and the severe, Mr. Burke’s | |
sublime‘and beautiful, by different proportions, | |
are mixed in every character. Accordingly, as | |
either is predominant, men imprint the passions | |
of love or fuar. The best punch depends on a | |
proper mixture of sugar and lemons.— | |
Shenstone. | |
Individual character is in the right that is | |
in strict consistence with itself. Self-contradic- | |
tion is the only wrong.—<Schiller. | |
A man, who shows no defect is'a fool or a | |
hypocrite, whom we should mistrust. There are | |
detects so bound to fine qualities that they an- | |
nounce them, — defects which it is well not to | |
correct.— Joubert. | |
The most accomplished persons haye usually | |
some defect, some weakness in their characters, | |
which diminishes the lustre of their brighter qual- | |
itications.—Juntus. | |
Your disposition will be suitable to that | |
which you most frequently think on; for the | |
soul is, as it were, tinged with the color and | |
complexion of its own thoughts.— . | |
Mareus Antoninus. | |
A man’s character is like his shadow, which | |
sometimes follows and sometimes precedes him, | |
and which ts occasionally louger, occasionally | |
shorter, than hé ts.— | |
Madame de la Rochejaquelein. | |
Those who quit their proper character to as- | |
sume.what does not belong to them are, for the | |
greater part, ignorant both of the ¢ | |
they leave and of the character they assnme.— | |
Burke. | |
A German writer observes: “The noblest | |
characters only show themselves in their real | |
light. All others act comedy with their fellow- | |
mien even unto the grave.” —Lady Blessington. | |
--- Chunk 1, Page 90 --- | |
CHARITY. | |
72 | |
CHARITY, | |
CHARITY. | |
As every lord giveth a certain livery to | |
his servants, charity is the very livery of Christ. | |
Our Saviour, who is the Lord above all lords, | |
would have his servants known by their badge, | |
which is love.—Zatimer, | |
How white are the fair robes of Charity, as | |
she walketh amid the lowly habitations of the | |
poor !—HHosea Ballou, | |
The Shepherds led the Pilgrims to Mount | |
Charity, where they showed them a man that | |
had a bundle of cloth lying before him, out of | |
which he cut coats and garments for the poor | |
that stood about him; yet his bundle or roll of | |
cloth was never the less. ‘Then said they, “ What | |
should this be?” “ This is,” said the Shepherds, | |
* to show you, that he who has a heart to give of | |
his labor to the poor shall never want where- | |
withal. ‘He that watereth shall be watered | |
himself’? And the cake that the widow gave | |
to the prophet did not cause that she had the | |
less in her barrel.”—-Bunyan. | |
The heart of a girl is like a eonvent, — the | |
holier the cloister, the more charitable the door. | |
Bulwer Lytton. | |
To complain that life has no joys while | |
there iy a single creature whom we ean relieve | |
by our bounty, assist by our counsels, or enliven | |
by our presence, is to lament the loss of that | |
which we possess,-and is just-as irrational as to | |
die of thirst with the cup in our hands.— | |
Fitzosborne. | |
Charity is an eterna] debt, and without | |
limit.—Pasquier Quesnel. | |
Tf there be a pleasure on earth which angels | |
cannot enjoy, and whieh they might almost | |
envy man the possession of, it is the power of | |
yelieving distress, —if there be a pain which | |
devils might pity man for enduring, it is the | |
death-bed reflection that we have possessed the | |
power of doing good, but that we have abused | |
and perverted it to purposes of ill.—Colton. | |
That eomes too late that comes for the ask- | |
ing. —Seneca. | |
Nothing truly can be termed mine own but | |
what I make mine own by using well. Those | |
deeds of charity which we have done shall stay | |
forever with us; and that wealth which we | |
have so bestowed we only keep; the other is not | |
ours.—Afiddleton, | |
It is good to be charitable; but to whom ? | |
That is the point. As to the ungroteful, there | |
is not one who does not at last die miserable. | |
—La Fontuine. | |
Heaven he their resouree who have no other | |
but the charity of the world, the stock of which, | |
1 fear, is no way sufficient for the many great | |
claims which are hourly made upon it—Sterne. | |
Charity, though enjoined by the Christian | |
law, and the law of nature itself, is withal so | |
pleasant that if any duty can be said to be its | |
own reward, or to pay us while we dre diseharg- | |
ing it, it is this — Die ding. | |
A woman who wants a charitable heart | |
wants a pure mind.—Huliburton. | |
The spirit of the world encloses four kinds | |
of spirits, diametrically opposed to eharity, — | |
the spirit of resentment, spirit of aversion, | |
spirit of jealousy, and the spirit of indifference.— | |
Bossuet. | |
But when thou doest alms, let not thy left | |
hand know what thy right hand doeth.—Bible. | |
Thave mneh more confidenee in the eharity | |
which begins in the home and diverges into a | |
large humanity, than in the world-wide _phi- | |
Janthropy whieh begins at the outside of our | |
horizon to converge into egotism.— | |
‘Mrs. Jameson. | |
Charity is the seope of all God’s commands. | |
St. Chrysostom. | |
When I die, I should be ashamed to leave | |
enongh to build me a monument if there were | |
a wanting friend above ground. I would enjoy | |
the pleasure of what I give by giving it alive | |
and seeing another enjoy it—-Dope. | |
It is fruition, and not possession, that ren- | |
ders us happy.—JlLontaigne. | |
Posthumous charities are the very essenee | |
of selfishness, when bequeathed by those who, | |
when alive, would part with nothing.— Colton. | |
Though we may sometimes unintentionally | |
bestow our beneficenee on the unworthy, it does | |
not take from the merit of the act. For eharity | |
doth not adopt the vices of its objects.— | |
Fielding. | |
True charity is not methodical, and scarcely | |
jndicions, so ‘to speak, but is liable to exeesses | |
and transports.—ALassillon. | |
Be not frightened at the hard words “im- | |
position,” “imposture” ; give, and ask no ques- | |
tions. Cast thy bread upon the waters. Some | |
y . | |
have, unawares, entertained angels—Lamb. - | |
True charity is spontaneons and finds its own | |
occasion ; it is never the offspring of importuni- | |
ty, nor of emulation.—fosea Ballou. | |
I would have none of that rigid, eireumspeet | |
charity which is never done without serutiny, | |
and which always mistrusts the truth of the | |
necessities laid open to it—AZassilfon. | |
Our possessions are wholly in our perform- | |
ances. He owes nothing to whom the world | |
owes nothing.— Simms. | |
--- Chunk 1, Page 91 --- | |
CHARITY. | |
CHARITY, | |
It is an old saying, that charity begins at | |
home; but this is no ‘reason it should not go | |
snbroad. A man should live with the*world i | |
citizen of the world; he may have a preference | |
fur the particular quarter or square, or even | |
alley, in which he ves, but he should have a | |
yenerons feeling for the weltare of the whole.— | |
Cumberland, | |
Charity, — gently to hear, kindly to judge. | |
. ~ F Shakespeure, | |
Beneficence is a duty. We who frequently | |
practises it, and sees his benevolent intentions | |
realized, at length comes really to love him to | |
whom he has ‘done good.— Nant. | |
Four charity shall cover the multitude of | |
sins. — Bille. | |
Charity is that rational and constant affec- | |
tion which makes us sacrifice ourselves to the | |
human race, as if we were united with it, so as | |
to forin one individual, partaking equally in its | |
adversity and prosperity. —Confuctus. | |
Large charity doth never soil, but only | |
whitens soft white hands.—Zovell. | |
A man_ should fear when he enjoys only | |
what goud he does publicly. Is it not the pub- | |
licity, rather than the charity, that he loves 7— | |
. - Beecher. | |
The charities of life are scattered crery- | |
where, enamelling the vales of human beings | |
as the flowers paint the meadows. They-are | |
not-the frnit of study, nor the privilege of refine- | |
ment, but a natural instinet.—Baucroft. | |
Charity resembleth fire, which inflameth all | |
things it toucheth.—Lrasmus. | |
There is no dearth of charity in the world in | |
giving, bnt there is compuratively little exer- | |
cised in thinking and speaking.— | |
Sir P. Sidney. | |
Be charitable and indulgent to every one but | |
vourself.— Joubert. | |
Proportion thy charity to the strength of | |
thy estate, lest God proportion thy estate to the | |
weakness of thy charity; let the lips of the | |
poor be the-trumpet of thy gift, lest in seeking | |
applanse, thou Jose thy reward. Nothing is | |
more pleasing to God than an open hand and | |
a close mouth.— Quarles. | |
A rich min without charity is-a rogue; and | |
perhaps it wonld be no diffienle matter to prove | |
that he is-also a fool.—fielding. | |
Thave no respect for that sclf-boasting char- | |
ity which neglects all objects of commiseration | |
near and around it, but goes to the end of the | |
earth in scarch of misery, for the purpose of | |
talking about it—Geurge Jfason. | |
Our trne acquisitions lie only in our char- | |
ities. We gain only as we give. ‘There is- no | |
beggar so destitute as he who canaflord nothing | |
to hig neighbor.—Simms, | |
My poor are my best patients. God pays | |
for thern.— Bourhuave. | |
We should give as we-would receive, cheer- | |
fully, quickly, nnd withont hesitation ; for there | |
is no grace in-a benefit that sticks to the fingers. | |
Seneca, | |
That charity is bad which takes from inde- | |
pendence its proper pride, from mendicity its | |
salutary shame.—Southey. | |
Flatter not thyself in thy faith to God, if | |
thou wantest charity for thy neighbor; and | |
think not thou hast charity for thy neighbor, if | |
thou wantest faith to God; where they.are not | |
both together, they are both wanting; they are | |
both dead, if once divided. —Quarles. | |
The seerct pleasure of a generons act is the | |
great mind’s great bribe.—Dryden. | |
T thank Heaven I have often had it in my | |
power to give help-and_relief, and this is still | |
my greatest pleasure If I could choose my | |
sphere of action now, it would be that of the | |
most simple and direct eflorts of this kind.— | |
: . Niebuhr. | |
In giving of thy-alms, inquire not so much | |
into the person, as his necessity. God looks not | |
so much upon the merits of him that requires, | |
as into the manner of him that relieves; if the | |
man deserve not, thon hast given it to humanity. | |
Quarles. | |
You must have'a genius for charity as well | |
as for anything ‘else. As for doing good, that | |
is one of the professions which are full— | |
Thoreau. | |
In all other human gifts and passions, | |
though they advance nature, yet they are sub- | |
ject to excess; but charity alone admits no | |
excess. For so we see, by aspiring to be like | |
God in power the“angels traisgressed and fell ; | |
by aspiring to be like God in knowledge man | |
transgressed and fell; but by aspiring to be like | |
God in goodness or love neither man nor angel | |
ever did or shall transgress. “For unte “that | |
initation we-ure called.—Bacoa. | |
And learn the Inxury of doing good.— | |
Goldsmith. | |
He who bas never denied himself for the | |
suke of giving has but glanced at the joys of | |
charity. We owe our superfluity, and to be | |
happy in the performance of our duty we must | |
exceed it.—Madame Swetchine. | |
Wherever the tree of beneficence takes root, | |
it sends-forth branches beyond the sky ! —Saadi. | |
--- Chunk 1, Page 92 --- | |
CHARITY. | |
74 | |
CHEERFULNESS. | |
The last, hest fruit which comes to late per-| CHASTITY. | |
fection, even in the kindliest soul, is tenderness | |
toward the hard, forbearance toward the unfor- | |
bearing, warmth of heart toward the cold, phi- | |
lanthropy toward the misanthropic.—Richter. | |
Cast thy bread upon the waters; for thou | |
shalt find it after many days. — Bible. | |
Charity suffereth long, and is kind; charity | |
envieth not; charity vaunteth not itself, is not | |
puffed up, doth not behave. itself unseemly, | |
secketh not her own, is not easily provoked, | |
thinketh no evil; rejoiceth not in iniquity, but | |
rejoiceth in the truth ; beareth all things, believ- | |
ethsall things, hopeth all things, endureth all | |
things.—Bible. | |
Charity is that swect-smelling savor of Jesus | |
Christ which vanishes -and is extinguished | |
from the moment that it is exposed.— | |
Massillon. | |
Active bencficence is a virtue of easier prac- | |
tice than furbearance after having conferred, or | | |
than thankfulness after having received, a bene- | |
fit. I know not, indeed, whether it be a greater | |
and more difficult exercise of magnanimity, for | |
the one party to act as if he had forgotten, or | |
for the other as if he constantly remembered, the | |
obligation.— Canning | |
There can be no Christianity where there is | |
no eharity.— Colton. | |
It is with charity as with money, —the | |
more we stand in ueced of it, the less we have to | |
give away.—Dovee. | |
Shut not thy purse-strings always against | |
ainted distress. Act a charity sometimes. | |
When a poor creature (outwardly and visibly | |
such) comes before thee, do not stay to inquire | |
whether the “seven small children,” in whose | |
name he implores thy assistance, have a verita- | |
ble existence. Rake not into the bowels of | |
unwelcome truth to save a halfpenny. It is | |
good to believe him.—Zamb. | |
And now abideth faith, hope, charity, these | |
three ; but the greatest of these is charity.— | |
Bible. | |
The charities that soothe and heal and | |
bless are scattered at the feet of man like | |
flowers.— Wordsworth. | |
I will chide no breather in the world but | |
myself; against whom I know most faults.— | |
Not the mountain ice, congealed to erystals, | |
is so frosty chaste as thy victorious soul, which | |
conquers man and man’s proud tyrant-pas- | |
sion.—Dryden. | |
Nothing makes a woman more esteemed by | |
the opposite sex than chastity; whether it be | |
that we always prize those most who are hard- | |
est to come at, or that nothing besides chastity, | |
with its collateral attendants, truth, fidelity, and | |
constancy, gives the man a property in the per- | |
son he loves, and consequently endears her to | |
him above all things.—sddison. | |
Chastity, once lost, cannot be reealled; it | |
goes only once.— Ovid. | |
A pure mind in a chaste body is the mother | |
of wisdom and deliberation, sober counsels and | |
ingenuous actions, open deportment and sweet | |
earriage, sincere principles and unprejndicate | |
understanding, love of God and sclf-denial, | |
peace and confidence, holy prayers and spiritual | |
comfort, and sa pleasure of spirit infinitely | |
greater than the sottish pleasure of unchastity. | |
Jeremy Taylor. | |
He comes too near that comes to be denied. | |
Str Thomas Overbury. | |
There needs not strength to be added to | |
inviolate chastity; the excellency of the mind | |
makes the body impregnable.—Sir P. Sidney. | |
Of chastity, the ornaments are chaste. | |
Shakespeare. | |
Chaste as the icicle that is curdied by the | |
frost from purest snow, and hangs on Dian’s | |
temple.— Shakespeare. | |
The woman that deliberates is lost.— | |
Addison. | |
Chaster than crystal on the Scythian cliffs, | |
the more the proud winds court it, still the | |
purer.— Beaumont. | |
.A man defines his standing at the court of | |
chastity by his views of women. Ie eannot be | |
any man’s friend nor his own if not hers.— | |
Alcott. | |
CAEERFULNESS. | |
I had rather have a fool to make me merry | |
than experience to make me sad.—Shakespeare. | |
If good people would but make their good- | |
ness agreeable, and smile instead of frowning in | |
Shakespeare. | their virtue, how many would they win to the | |
Charity ever finds in the: act reward, and | |
needs no trumpet in the receiver.— | |
good cause! —Arehbishop Usher. | |
The most manifest sign of wisdom is con- | |
Beaumont and Fletcher. 1-tinued cheerfulness.—Aontaigne. | |
We are rich only through what we give, and | |
poor only through what we refuse,— | |
Madame Swetchine. | |
If the soul be happily disposed, everything | |
'beeomes capable of affording entertainment, and. | |
distress will almost want a name. Goldsmith. | |
--- Chunk 1, Page 93 --- | |
CUEERFULNESS. 7 | |
CHEERFULNESS. | |
Mirth is like a flash of lightning that breaks | |
through a gloom of clouds<aud glitters for a | |
moment. Cheerfulness keeps up a daylight in | |
the mind, filling it with a steady and perpetual | |
serenity.—Johison. | |
Tf there is‘a virtue in the worldtat which we | |
should always aim, it is cheerfulness.— | |
Bulwer Lytton. | |
The lightsome countenance of a friend giveth | |
such an inward decking to the house where it | |
lodgeth, ns proudest palaces have cause to envy | |
the gilding. —Sir P. Sidney. | |
The industrious bee does not stop to com- | |
plain that there are so many poisonous flowers | |
and thorny branches in his road, but buzzes on, | |
selecting the honey where he can find it, and | |
assing quictly by the places where it is not. | |
There is cnough in this world,to complain about | |
and find fault with, if men have the disposition, | |
We often travel on a hard and uneven road ; | |
but with a cheerful spirit, and a heart to praise { | |
God for his: mercies, we may walk therein with | |
comfort, and come tothe end of our journey in | |
peace.— Dewey. | |
An ounce of cheerfulness is worth a pound | |
of sadness to serve God with.—udler. | |
Cheerfulness is a friend to grace, it puts the | |
heart in tune to praise God. Uncheerful Chris- | |
tians, like the spies, bring an evil report on the | |
good land; others suspect there is something | |
unpleasant in religion, that they who profess it | |
hang their harps upon the willows and walk so | |
dejectedly. Be serions, yet cheerful. Rejoice | |
in the Lord always.—Rev. T. Watson. | |
I have always preferred cheerfulness to | |
mirth. The latter I consider as an art, the for- | |
mer as a habit of mind, Mirth is short and | |
transient, cheerfulness fixed and permanent.— | |
Addison. | |
The burden becomes light which is cheerful- | |
ly borne.— Ovid. | |
True joy is a serene and sober motion, and | |
they are miserably out that take laughing for; | |
Let ine play the fool; with mirth and laugh- | |
ter let old) wrinkles come ;aud let my liver | |
rather heat with wine thun my heart cool with | |
mortifying groans. Why should a man whose | |
blood is warin within sit like lis grandsire cut | |
in alabaster, sleep when -he wakes, and creep | |
into thejaundice by being peevish !— Shakespeare. | |
The tind that is cheerful iu its present state | |
will be averse to all solicitude us to the future, | |
and will inect the’ bitter occnrreices of life with | |
a smile.—Jforace. | |
Cheerful looks make every dish a feast, and | |
it is that which crowns a welcome.—lMassinger. | |
A cheerful- temper spreads like the dawn, | |
and all vapors disperse before it. Even the tear | |
dries on the cheek, and the sigh sinks away | |
half-breathed when the eye of benignity beams | |
upon the unhappy.—Jane Porter. | |
To be free-ninded and cheerfully disposed | |
at hours of meat and slecp and of exercise is | |
one of the best precepts of long lasting. —Bacon. | |
A light heart lives long. —Shakespeare. | |
I live in a constant endeavor to fence against | |
the infirmities, of iH-health, and other evils of | |
life, by mirth; being finnly persuaded that | |
every time a man siniles, but much more when | |
he laughs, it adds something to his fragment of | |
life. —Sterne. | |
Cheerfutness is health ; the opposite, melan- | |
choly, is disease.—ZHuliburton. | |
Thave observed that in comedies the best | |
actor plays the droll, while some scrub rogue is | |
made the fine gentleman or hero. ‘Thins it is in | |
the farce of life. Wise men spend their time in | |
mirth ; it is only fools whe are serious.— | |
Bolingbroke. | |
A merry heart docth good like a medicine ; | |
but a broken spirit drieth the bones.—Bible. | |
Cheerfulness is always to be kept up if 2 | |
man is ont of pain; but mirth, to a ‘prudent | |
‘man, should always be accidental. It should | |
rejoicing ; the.seat of it is.within, and there is | natnrally arise out of the occasion, and the oc- | |
no cheerfulness like the resolutions of a brave casion seldom be laid for it.—Steele. | |
mind.—Senecu. | |
To be happy, the passions must be cheerfut | |
The cheerful live longest in life, and after} and gay, not gloomy and melancholy. A pro- | |
it, in our regards. | |
of goodness.— Bovee. | |
Be thou of good cheer.—-Dible. | |
Cheerfulness is the offshoot | ponsity.to. hope and joy is real riches; one to | |
fear and sorrow, real poverty.—//ume. | |
You find yourself refreshed by the presence | |
of cheerful people. Why not mike carnest | |
The habit of looking on the best side of} effort to confer that pleasure on others? You | |
every event is worth more than a thousand {will find half the battle is gained if you never | |
pounds a year.—/olinson. | |
Youth will never live to ‘age unless they | |
keep themselves in breath with exercise, and in | |
heart with joyfulness.—Sir P. Sidney. | |
‘allow yourself to say anything gloumy.— | |
The creed of the true-saint is to make the | |
best of life, and make the most of it-—Chapin. | |
drs, Le, Chald., | |
--- Chunk 1, Page 94 --- | |
CHEERFULNESS. | |
J cannot tell how much I esteem and admire | |
your good and happy temperament. | |
CHILDREN. | |
Thave told you of the Spaniard who always | |
What | put on’ his spectacles when about to eat cherries, | |
folly not to take advantage of circumstances, / that they might look bigger and more tempting. | |
and enjoy gratefully the consolations which God | |
sends us after the afflictive dispensations which | |
he sometinies sees proper to make uy feel | | |
scems to me to be a proof of great wisdom to | |
submit with resignation to the storm, and enjoy | |
the calm when it pleases him to give it us again. | |
. Madame de Séeigné. | |
God is glorified, not by our groans, but our | |
thanksgivings ; and all good thought.and good | |
action claim a natural alliance with good cheer. | |
Whipple. | |
Give us, O give us, the man who sings at his | |
work! Be his occupation-what it may, he is | |
equal to any of those who follow the same pur- | |
suit in silent sullenness. He will do more in | |
the saine time, — he will do it better, — he will | |
persevere longer. One is scarcely sensible of | |
fatigue whilst he marches to music. The-very | |
stars are said to make harmony as they revolve | |
in their spheres. Wondrous is the strength of | |
cheerfitIness, altogether past calenlation its | |
powers of endurance. Efforts, to be permanent- | |
ly useful, must be uniformly joyous,—a spirit | |
all sunshine, — graceful from very gladness, — | |
beautiful Leeause bright.— Carlyle. | |
A cheerful, easy, open countenance will | |
make fools think you a good-natured man, and | |
make designing men think you an undesigning | |
one. Chesterfield. | |
Cheerfulness is the best promoter of health. | |
Repinings and murmutings of the heart give | |
iuiperceptible strokes to those delicate fibres of | |
which the vital parts are composed, and wear | |
out the machine. Cheerfulness is as friendly to | |
the mind as to the body.—Addison. | |
There seem to be some persons, the favorites | |
of fortune and darlings of nature, who are born | |
cheerful. “A star danced” at their birth. | It | |
is uo superficial visibility, but a bountiful and | |
beneficent soul that sparkles in their eyes and | |
smiles on their lips. Their inborn geniality | |
amounts to genius, — the rare and dificult | |
genius which creates sweet and wholesome char- | |
acter, and radiates cheer.— Whipple. | |
What can the Creator see with greater | |
pleasure than a happy creature ?1—Lessing. | |
Cheerfulness is just as natural to the heart | |
of a man in strong health as color to his cheek ; | |
and wherever there is habitual gloom, there | |
must be either bad air, unwholesome food, im- | |
properly severe labor, or erring habits of life-— | |
Ruskin, | |
Cheerfulness bears the same friendly regard | |
to the mind as to the body; it banishes al} anx- | |
jous care and discontent, soothes and composes | |
the passions and keeps them in a perpetual | |
calm.—Addison. | |
| | |
In like manner I make the most of my enjoy- | |
jments; and though I do not cast my eyes | |
It j away from my trouble’, I pack them in as little | |
compass‘as I can for myself, and never let them | |
annoy others.—Southey. | |
When Goethe says that in every human con- | |
dition foes lie in wait for us, “invincible only | |
by cheerfulness and equanimity,” he does not | |
mean that we can at all times be really cheerful, | |
or at a ioment’s notice; but that the endeavor | |
to look at the better side of things will produce | |
the habit, and that this habit is the surest safe- | |
guard against the danger of sudden evils.— | |
Leigh Hunt. | |
Every human soul has the germ of some | |
flowers within; and they would open if they | |
could only find sunshine and free air to expand | |
in. Talways told you that uot having enough of | |
sunshine was what ailed the world. Make pco- | |
ple happy, and there will uot be half the quar- | |
relling or a tenth part of the wickedness there | |
is—Ifrs. L. M. Child. | |
Cheerfulness ought to be the viuticum vite | |
of their life to the old; age withont cheerful- | |
ness is a Lapland winter without a sun.— | |
7 Colton. | |
Nothing will supply the want of sunshine to | |
peaches, and, to make knowledge valuable, you | |
must have the cheerfulness of wisdom. When- | |
ever yon are sincerely pleased you are nour- | |
ished. The joy of the spirit indicates its | |
strength. All healthy things ‘are sweet-tem- | |
pered. Genius works in sport, and goodness | |
smiles to the last.—£'merson. | |
A cheerful temper, joined with innocence, | |
will make beauty attractive, knowledge delight- | |
ful, aud wit good-natured. It will lighten sick- | |
ness, poverty, and:affliction, convert ignorance | |
into an amiable simplicity, and render deformity | |
itself agreeable.—Addison. | |
CHILDREN. | |
No man can tell but he that loves his chil- | |
dren how many delicions accents make a man’s | |
heart dance in the pretty conversation of those | |
dear pledges— Jeremy Taylor. | |
Children have more need of models than of | |
critics. —Joubert. | |
Am infallible way to make your child_miser- | |
able is to satisfy all his demands. Passion | |
swells by gratification ; -and the impossibility of | |
satisfying every one of his demands will oblige | |
you to stop short at last, after he has become a | |
little headstrong.—Henry Home. | |
I love these little people; and it is not a | |
slight thing when they, who are so fresh from | |
God, love us.—Dickens. | |
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CHILDREN. | |
7 | |
7 CHILDREN. | |
Children generally hate to be idle; «all the | |
eare then is that their busy hnmor should be | |
constantly employedin something of use to | |
them.—Locke. | |
The whining schoolboy, with his satchel and | |
shining morning face, creeping like snai] unwill- | |
ingly to school.— Shakespeare. | |
Happy season of childhood! Kind Natnre, | |
that art to all-é bonntiful mother; that -visitest | |
the poor man’s hut with auroral radiance; and | |
for thy nursling hast provided a soft swathing | |
of love.and infinite hope wherein he waxes and | |
slumbers, danced round by sweetest dreams !— | |
Carlyle. | |
Childhood is the sleep of reason .—Rousseau. | |
The child’s grief throbs. against the round of | |
its little heart as heavilj?as the man’s sorrow; | |
and the one finds as much delight in his kite or | |
drum as the other in striking the springs of en- | |
terprise or soaring on the wings of fame.— | |
Chapin. | |
Who is not attracted by bright and pleasant | |
children, to prattle, to creep, and to play with | |
them ?—Epictetus. | |
Beware of fatigning them by ill-jndged ex- | |
actness. If virtue offer itself to a child under‘a | |
melancholy and- constrained, aspect, if liberty | |
and license present themselves nnder an agree- | |
able form, all is lost, your labor is in vain.— | |
Fenelon. | |
Children have neither past nor future; and, | |
what seareely ever happens to us, they enjoy the | |
present.— Bruyére. | |
The least and most.impereeptible impres- | |
sions received in our infancy, have consequences | |
yery important, and of a long duration. It is | |
with these first impressions, as with a river | |
whose waters we can casily turn, by different | |
canals, in quite opposite courses, so that, from | |
the insensible direction the stream receives at | |
its sonrce, it takes different directions, and at | |
last arrives at places far distant from cach other ; | |
and with the same facility we may, I think, turn | |
the minds of children to what direction we | |
please.—Locke. | |
Living jevels | |
dropped unstained from | |
heaven.— Pollok. | |
If I were to choose among all gifts and | |
qualities that which, on the whole, makes life | |
leasantest, I should select the love of children. | |
o circumstance can render this world wholly a | |
solitude to one who has this possession.— | |
© DT. AW. Higginson. | |
Children sweeten labors, but they make mis- | |
fortunes more bitter; they inerease the cares of | |
A creatnre undefiled by the taint of the | |
world, unyexed hy its injustice, unwearied by | |
its hollow pleasures; a being fresh from the | |
source of light, with something of its universal | |
lustre in it. Tf childhood he this, how holy the | |
duty to see that in its onward growth it shall be | |
no other ! —Douglas Jerrold. | |
Your little child is your only true democrat. | |
Mrs. Stowe. | |
Children are very nice observers, and they | |
will often perecive your slightest defects. In | |
general, those who govern children forgive | |
nothing in them, but everything in themselves. | |
Fenelon, | |
T know that a sweet child is the sweetest | |
thing in nature, not even excepting the delicate | |
creatures which bear them ; but the prettier the | |
kind of a thing is, the more desirable it is that | |
it should be pretty of its kind. One daisy dif- | |
fers not much from another in glory; but a | |
violet shonld look,and smell the daintiest.— | |
Lamb. | |
A torn jacket is soon mended; but hard | |
words bruise the heart of a child.—Long/ellow. | |
It always grieves me to contemplate the in- | |
itiation of children into the ways of life when | |
they are scarcely more than infants. It checks | |
their confidence and simplicity, two of the best | |
qualities that Heaven gives them, and demands | |
that they share our sorrows before they are | |
capable of entering into our enjoyments.— | |
Dickens. | |
Lhardly know so melancholy a reflection as | |
that parents are necessarily the sole directors of | |
the management of children, whether they have | |
or have not judgment, penetration, or taste to | |
perform .the task.—Lord Greville. | |
In bringing up a child, think of its old age. | |
Joubert. | |
Bring together all the children of the uni- | |
verse, you will see nothing in them but inno- | |
eence} gentleness, and fear; were they born | |
wicked, spiteful, and crucl, some signs of it | |
would come from them; as little snakes strive | |
to bite, and little tigers to tear. But nature | |
having been as sparing of offensive weapons to | |
man as to pigeons and rabbits, it cannot have | |
given them an instinct to mischief«and destruc- | |
tion.— Foltaire. | |
Blessed he the hand that prepares a pleas- | |
ure for‘a child, for there is no saying when and | |
where it may bloom forth_— Douglas Jerrold. | |
If a boy is not trained to endure and to bear | |
trouble, he will grow up a girl; and a boy, that | |
is a-girl has all a-girl’s weakness without any | |
of her regal qualities. A woman made ont of | |
of life, but they mitigate the remembrance of | a woman is God’s noblest work ;:a woman made | |
death.—Bacon. | |
out of a man is his meanest.—Beecher. | |
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CHILDREN. fi | |
+ | |
Who feels injustice, who shrinks before a | |
slight, who has a sense of wrong so acute, and | |
so glowing a gratitude for kindness, as a gener- | |
ous hoy ? —Thackeray. | |
4 child is an angel dependent on man.— | |
Count de AMuistre. | |
When a child can be brought to tears, not | |
from. fear of punishment, but trom repentance | |
for his offence, he needs no chastisement. When | |
the tears begin to flow from grief at one’s own | |
conduct, be sure there is an angel nestling in | |
the hosom.—Horace Mann. | |
Happy child! the cradle is still to thee a | |
vast space; become a man, and the boundless | |
world will be too small to thee — Schiller. | |
A child’s eyes, those clear wells of undefiled | |
thought, — what on earth can be more beautiful 4 | |
Full of hope, love, and curiosity, they meet your | |
own. In prayer, how earnest; in joy, how | |
sparkling ; in sympathy, how tender! The man | |
who never tried the companionship of a little | |
child has carelessly passed by one of the great | |
pleasures of life,-as one passes a-rare flower | |
without plucking it or knowing its yalne.— | |
Mrs. Norton. | |
That season of childhood, when the soul, on | |
the rainbow bridge of fancy, glides along, dry- | |
shod, over the walls and ditehes of this lower | |
earth.— Richter. | |
Children are the to-morrow of society.— | |
Whately. | |
Be very vigilant over thy child in the April | |
of his understanding, lest the frost of May nip | |
his blossoms. While he is a tender twig, | |
straighten him; whilst he is a new vessel, sea- | |
son him; such as thou makest him, such com- | |
monly shalt thon find him. Let his first lesson | |
be obedience, and his second shall be what thou | |
wilt.— Quarles. | |
Childhood, who like an April morn appears, | |
sunshine and rain, hopes clouded o’er with fears. | |
Churchill. | |
Be ever gentle with the children God has | |
given you; watch over them constantly ; reprove | |
them earnestly, but not in anger. In the forei- | |
ble language of Scripture, “Be not bitter | |
against them.” “Yes, they are good boys,” | |
T once heard a kind father say. “ Italk to them | |
very much, but do not like to beat my children, | |
— the-world will beat them.” It was a beauti- | |
ful thought, though not elegantly expressed.— | |
‘ Elihu Burritt. | |
Onr children that die young are like those | |
spring bulbs which have their flowers prepared | |
beforehand, and leave nothing to do but to | |
break ground, and blossom, and pass away. | |
Thank God for spring flowers among men, as | |
8 CHILDREN. | |
T do not like punishments. You will never | |
torture a child into duty; but a sensible child | |
will dread the frown of a judicious mother more | |
than all the rods, dark rooms, and scolding | |
schoolmistresses in the universe.—H. A, White. | |
A man looketh on his little one as a being | |
of better hope; in himself ambition is dead, but | |
it hath a resurrection in lis sou.—Tupper. | |
A rose with all its sweetest leaves yet folded. | |
Byron. | |
Above all things endeavor to breed them up | |
in the love of virtue, and that holy plain way | |
of it which we have lived in, that the world in | |
no part of it get into my family. I had rather | |
they were homely than fincly bred as to out- | |
ward behavior; yet I love sweetness mixed with | |
gravity,' and cheerfulness tempered with so- | |
briety.— William Penn. | |
Childhood shows the man, 23 morning shows | |
the day.—Jfiiton. | |
Truly there is nothing in the world so | |
blessed or so sweet as the heritage of children.— | |
Mrs, Oliphant. | |
Children are the hands by which we take | |
hold of heaven. By these tendrils we clasp it | |
and climb thitherward. And why do we think | |
that we are separated from them? We never | |
half knew them, nor in this world conld.— | |
- Beecher. | |
Call not that man wretched who, whatever | |
ills he suffers, has child to love.—Southey. | |
In trying to teach children a great deal in | |
a short time, they are treated uot as though the | |
race they were to run was for life, but simply a | |
three-mile heat.—Horace Mann. | |
I have often thonght what a melancholy | |
world this-would be without children, and what | |
an inhuman world without the aged.— Coleridge. | |
God sends children for another purpose than | |
merely to keep up the race,—to enlarge our | |
hearts, to make us unselfish, and full of kindly | |
sympathies and affections; to give our souls | |
higher aims, and to call out all our faculties | |
to extended enterprise and exertion; to bring | |
round our fireside bright faces and happy smiles, | |
and loving, tender hearts. My sou: blesses the | |
Great Father every day, that he has gladdened | |
the earth with little children. —Mary Howitt. | |
Children will grow up substantially what | |
they are by nature, — and only that.— ’ | |
y y y Dfrs. Stowe. | |
The children of the poor are so apt to look | |
as if the rich would have been over-blest with | |
such! Alas for the angel capabilities, inter- | |
rapted so soon with care, and with after life so | |
well as among the grasses of the field.— Beecher. | sadly unfulfilled !—~ Willis. | |
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CHILDREN. | |
79 | |
CHRIST. | |
A child is man in a small letter, yet the best | |
copy of Adum before he ‘tasted of Eve or the | |
apple; and he is happy whose small practice in | |
the world can only write his character. His | |
soul is yet a white. paper unseribbled -with | |
observations of the world, wherewith at length | |
it_ becomes a blurred uote-book. He is purely | |
Happy beeanse he knows no evil, nor hath made | |
means by sin to be acquainted with misery.— | |
: Bishop Earle. | |
In praising or loving a child, we love ‘and | |
praise not that which is, but that which we hope | |
‘or.— Goethe. | |
Just as the twig is bent the tree is inclined. | |
Pope. | |
While childhood, and while dreams, redn- | |
eing childhood, shall be left, imagination shall | |
not have spread her holy wings totally to fly the | |
earth.—Lamb. | |
Call not-that man wretched, who whatever | |
else he suffers as to pain inflicted, or pleasure | |
denied, has a child for whom he hopes and on | |
whom he doats.—Coleridge. | |
The plays of natural lively children are the | |
infancy of art. Children live in a world of | |
imagination and fecling. They invest the most | |
insignificant object with any form they please, | |
-and see in it whatever they wish to see.— | |
Oehlenschléger. | |
“Beware,” said Lavater, “of him who hates | |
the laugh of a child.” “TI love God and little | |
children,” was the simple yet sublime sentiment | |
of Richter.—frs. Sigourney | |
What gift has Providence bestowed on man | |
that is so dear to him as his children ?—Creero. | |
The child is father of the man.— Wordsworth. | |
Of all sights which can soften and humanize | |
the heart of men, there is none that ought so | |
surely to reach it as that of innocent children, | |
enjoying the happiness which is their proper | |
and natural portion.— Southey | |
Is the world all grown up? Is childhood | |
dead? Or is there not in the bosom of the wisest | |
and the best some of the child’s heart left, to | |
respond to its earliest enchantments ?—Zambd. | |
Many children, many cares; no children, no | |
felicity.—Bovee. ; | |
A child’s existence is a bright, soft element | |
of joy, out of which, as in Prospero’s Island, | |
wonder after wonder bodies itself forth, to teach | |
by charming.—Hodaey. | |
We should amuse our evening hours of life | |
in cultivating. the tender plants, and bringing | |
them to perfection, before they are transplanted | |
to a happier clime.— Washington. | |
Every child walks into existence through | |
the golden gate of love.—Beecher. | |
A man shall see, where there is a house full | |
of children, one or two of the eldest restricted, | |
and the youngest ruined by indulgence; but in | |
the midst, some that are, as it wére, forgotten, | |
who many times, nevertheless, prove the best.—- | |
Bacon. | |
The training of children is a profession | |
where we must know to lose time in order to | |
gain it—Rousseau. | |
Children, like dogs, have so sharp.and fine | |
a scent, that they detect and hunt ont every- | |
thing, — the bad before all the rest. ‘Fhey also | |
know well enough how this or that friend | |
stands with their parents; and as they practise | |
no dissimulation whatever, they. serve as excel- | |
lent barometers by which to observe the degree | |
of favor or disfavor at which we stand with | |
their parents.— Goethe. | |
The starlight smile of children.— | |
Epes Sargent. | |
I can endure a melancholy man, but not | |
a melancholy child: the former, in whatever | |
slongh he may sink, can raise his eyes cither | |
to the kingdom of reason or of hope; but the | |
little child is entirely ahsorbed and weighed | |
down by one black poison-drop of the present.— | |
Alrs. Norton. | |
The scenes of childhood are the memories of | |
future years.—J. O. Choules. | |
Heaven lies about us in onr infancy.— | |
Wordsworth. | |
We should treat children as God does ns, | |
who makes ns happiest when he leaves us under | |
the influenee of innocent delusions. Goethe. | |
CHIVALRY. | |
The age of ehivalry has gone, and one of | |
ealeulators and economists has sueceeded.— | |
Burke. | |
Collision is as necessary to produce virtue in | |
men, as it is to elicit fire in inanimate matter ; | |
and chivalry is the essence of virtue.— | |
Lord John Russell. | |
CHOICE, | |
The measure of choosing well is whether a | |
man likes what he has chosen.—Zamb. | |
CHRIST. | |
The best of men that ever wore earth about | |
him was a sufferer, a s6ft, meek, patient, hum- | |
ble, tranquil spirit; the first trne -gentleman | |
that ever breathed.—Decker. | |
In his death he is a sacrifice, satisfying for | |
‘our sins; in the resurrection, a-conqueror; in | |
the ascension, a king; in the intercession, a | |
vhigh pricst.—Luther | |
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CHRISTIANITY. | |
80 | |
CHRISTIANITY. | |
Men who neglect Christ, and try to win | |
heaven throngh moralitics, are like sailors at | |
sea in a storm, who pull, some at the bowsprit | |
and some at the mainmast, but never touch the | |
helm.— Beecher. | |
At his birth a star, unseen before in heaven, | |
proclaims him come.--DLilton | |
The nature of Christ’s existence is myste- | |
rious, I admit; but this mystery meets the wants | |
of man. Reject it, and the world is an inexph- | |
cable riddle; believe it, and the history of our | |
race is satisfactorily explained —Napoleon. | |
In him dwelleth all the fulness of the God- | |
head bodily. — Bible. | |
Unlike all other founders of a religions faith, | |
Christ had no selfishness, no desire of domi- | |
nance; and his system, unlike all other systems | |
of worship, was bloodless, houndlessly benefi- | |
cent, inexpressibly pure, and — most marvellous | |
of all—went to break all bonds of body and | |
soul, and to cast down every temporal and | |
every spiritual tyranny.— Wilkam Howitt. | |
All the glory and beauty of Christ are mani- | |
fested within, and there he delights to dwell; | |
his visits there are frequent, his condescension | |
amazing, his conversation sweet, his comforts | |
refreshing ; and the peace that he brings passeth | |
all understanding.— Thomas & Kempis. | |
Rejecting the miracles of Christ, we. still | |
have the miracle of Christ himself.—Bovee. | |
He walked in Judea eighteen hundred years | |
ago; his sphere melody, flowing in wild native | |
tones, took captive the ravished souls of men, | |
and, being of .a truth sphere melody, still flows | |
and sounds, though now .with thousand-fold | |
accompaniments and rich symphonies, through | |
all our hearts, and modulates and divinely leads | |
them.—Carlyle. | |
CHRISTIANITY. | | |
I do not want the walls of separation be- | |
tween different orders of Christians to be de- | |
stroyed, but only lowered, that we may shake | |
hands a little easier over them.—Rowland Hill. | |
Every Christian is born great because he is | |
born for heaven.—Afassillon. | |
It is more to the honor of a Christian sol- | |
dier by faith to overcome the world, than by a | |
monastical vow to retreat from it; and more for | |
the honor of Christ to serve him in a city than | |
to serve him in a cell.— Matthew Henry. | |
The relations of Christians to each other | |
are like the several flowers in a garden that | |
have upon each the dew of heaven, which, | |
being shaken by the wind, they let fall the dew | |
at each other’s roots, whereby they are jointly | |
nourished, and become nourishers of one anoth- | |
er.— Banyan. | |
Now yon say, alas! Christianity is hard; I | |
grant it; but gainful and happy. I contemn | |
the difficnlty when I respect the advantage. | |
The greatest labors that have answerable re- | |
quitals are less than the least that have no | |
regard. Believe me, when IJ look to the reward, | |
I would not have the wark easier. It is a good | |
Master whom we serve, who not only pays, but | |
gives; not after the proportion of our earnings, | |
but of his own mercy.— Bishop Hull. | |
Christianity has no ceremonial. It has | |
forms, for forms are essential to order; but it | |
disdains the folly of attempting to reinforce the | |
religion of the heart by the antics of the mind.— | |
Rev. Dr. Croly. | |
Alas! how has the social spirit of Chris- | |
tianity been perverted by fools at onc time, and | |
by knaves and bigots at another; by the self- | |
tormentors of the cell, and the all-tormentors of | |
the conclave !—Colton, | |
Ordinarily rivers run small at the beginning, | |
grow broader and broader as they proceed, and | |
become widest and deepest at the point where | |
they enter the sea. It is such rivers that the | |
Christian’s life is like. But the life of the mere | |
worldly man is like those rivers in Southern | |
Africa, which proceeding from mountain fresh- | |
ets, are broad and deep at the beginning, and | |
grow narrower and more shallow as they ad- | |
vance. They waste themselves by soaking into | |
the sands, and at last they die out entirely. | |
The farther they run, the less there is of them. | |
Beecher. | |
Christianity, which is always true to the | |
heart, knows no abstract virtues, but virtues | |
resulting from our wants,'and usefnl to all_— | |
Chateaubriand. | |
The real security of Christianity is to be | |
found in its benevolent morality, in its exquisite | |
adaptation to the human heart, in the facility | |
with which its scheme accommodates itself to | |
the capacity of every human intellect, in the | |
consolation which it bears to every house of | |
mourning, in the light with which it brightens | |
the great mystery of the grave.—Afacaulay. | |
He that loves Christianity better than truth | |
will soon lave his own sect or party better than | |
Christianity, and will end by loving himself | |
better than all.—Coleridye. | |
As to the Christian religion, besides the | |
strong evidence which we have for it, there is a | |
balance in its favor from the number of great | |
men who haye been convinced of its truth after | |
a serious consideration of the question. Gro- | |
tins was an acute man, a lawyer, a man accus- | |
tomed to examine evidence, and he was con- | |
vinced. Grotius was not a recluse, but a man | |
of the world, who certainly had no bias on the | |
side of religion. Sir Isaac Newton set out an | |
infidel, and came to be a very firm believer.— | |
Johnson. | |
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CHRISTIANITY. | |
81 | |
CHURLISINESS. | |
Thongh the living man can wear a inask | |
and earry on deceit, the dying Christian caunot | |
counterfeit. —Cumberland, | |
' | |
Christianity commands us to pass by in- | |
juries; poliey, to let them pass by us. | |
Franklin. | |
A Christian in this world is but gold in they | |
ore ;.at.death the pnre gold is melted out. andl | |
separated, and the dross cast away -aud con- | |
smmned.—Flaved. | |
Christian graces are like perfumes; the | |
more they are pressed, the sweeter they smell: | |
like stars that shine brightest in the dark; like | |
trees, the more they are “shaken, the deeper root | |
they take, and the more frait they bear.— | |
Rev. Joka Mason. | |
Tle who is truly a good’ man is more than | |
half way to being a Christian, by whatever | |
name he is called. —Sowh. | |
Great books are written for Christianity | |
much oftencr than great deeds are done for it. | |
City libraries tell us of the reign of Jesus | |
Christ, bnt city “streets tell us of the * reign of | |
Satan.—Horace Mann. | |
The other world iss to this like the east to | |
the west. We cannot approach the one withont | |
tnrning away from the other.‘ bd-el-Aader. | |
If ever Christianity: appears in its power, it | |
is when it erects its (rophies npon the tomb ; | |
when it takes np its votaries where the world | |
leaves them ; and fills the breach with immortal | |
hope in dying moments.—Robert Hull. | |
In becoming Christians, thongh we love | |
some persons more than we did, “let us love | |
none less.—-Gambold. | |
Christianity is indeed peculiarly fitted to the | |
more improve stages of society, to the more | |
delicate sensibilities of refined minds, and es- | |
pecially to that dissatisfaction with the present | |
state which always grows with the growth of | |
our moral powers:and affections.— Channing. | |
I would give nothing for the Christianity of | |
a man whose very doz and cat were not the | |
better for his religion.—Roreland J7ill. | |
A Christianity which will not help those | |
who are strngeling from the hottom to the | |
top of society “needs another Christ to die for | |
it—Beecher. | |
A Christian is God Almighty’s gentleman.— | |
ITare. | |
Christ was vite magister, not sckole: and he | |
ts the best Christian whose heart bents with | |
the purest pulse tuwards heaven ; not he whose | |
head spinneth out the finest cobwebs,— | |
Cudworth | |
6 | |
Christianity. has carried civilization .along | |
with it, whithersoever it has gone; aud, as if wo | |
show that the latter dees not depend on physical | |
some of the countries the most civilized | |
in the days of Augustas are now in aw state of | |
hopeless barbarisin.—J/are. | |
The Chnreh limits her sacramental services | |
to the faithful. Christ gave himself upon the | |
evoss, a ransom for all.—Pascad. | |
Onrs is a religion jealous in its demands, but | |
how infinitely prodigal in its gifts! Tt troubles | |
yon for an hour, it repays you by immortality — | |
Bulwer Lytton. | |
CHURCH. | |
Surely the church is a place where one day’s | |
truce onght to be‘allowed to the disseusions and | |
animosities of mankind.— Burke. | |
As in Noah’s ark there were the clean and | |
the unclean, raven and dove, leopard and kid, | |
the cruel lion with ‘the gentle lamb; so in the | |
Church of Christ on earth you wilt find the | |
same diversities and differences of human char- | |
acter.—Rev. Dr. Guthrie. | |
The way to preserve the peace of the Church | |
is to preserve the purity of it.—2fatthew LTenry. | |
The clearest window that ever was fash- | |
ioned, if it is barred by spiders’ webs, and ling | |
over with carcasses of insects, so that the. sun- | |
light has forgotten to find its way through, of | |
what use can it be? Now, the Chureh is “Go's | |
window; and if it is so obscured by errors that | |
its light is darkness, how great is that dark- | |
ness ! —Beecher. | |
The Church has a good stomach; she has | |
swallowed down whole countries, and has never | |
known a-surfeit; the Charch alone can digest | |
such ill-gotten wealth.— Goethe. | |
There onght to he such an atmosphere in | |
every” Christian church that a man going there | |
and sitting two hours should take the contagion | |
of heaven, and carry lime a fire to kindle” the | |
altar whence he came.— Beecher. | |
Mensay theirpinnacles point toheaven. Why, | |
<0 does ev ery tree that buds, and every bird that | |
rises as it sings. Men say their aisles are good | |
for worship. Why, so is every mountain “glen | |
and rough sea- shore. . But this they have of | |
distinct and indisputable glory, —that their | |
mighty walls were never raised, ‘and never shall | |
be, brit by men who love and aid each other in | |
their weakness.— Ruskin. | |
An [ have not forgotten what the inside of a | |
church is made of, Tanva peppercorn, a brewer's | |
horse. —Shakespeare. | |
CHURLISHNESS, | |
My master is of churtish disposition, and | |
little recks to find the way to heaven by doing | |
deeds of hospitality —Shakespeare. | |
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CIRCUMSTANCES. | |
82 | |
CITIES. | |
CIRCUMSTANCES. | |
He is happy whose cireumstances suit his | |
temper; but he is more excellent who can snit | |
his temper to any cireumstances.—Zume. | |
Men ‘are the sport of circumstances, when | |
the cirenmstanees seem the sport of nen.— | |
Byron. | |
When the Gauls laid waste Rome, they | |
found the senators clothed in their robes, and | |
seated in stern tranquillity in their eurule chairs ; | |
in this manner they suffered death without re- | |
sistance or supplication. Such conduct was in | |
them applauded as noble and magnanimous; in | |
the hapless Indians it was reviled as both obsti- | |
nate and sullen. How truly are we the dupes | |
of show and cirenmstances! How different is | |
virtue, clothed in purple and enthroned in state, | |
from virtue, naked and destitute, and perishing | |
obseurcly in a wilderness.— Washington Irving. | |
Circumstances ! I make cireumstances.— | |
Napoleon. | |
It is our relation to cireumstances that | |
determines their influence upon us. The same | |
wind that carries one vessel into port may blow | |
another off shore.—Bovee. | |
CITIES, | |
The nnion of men in large masses is indis- | |
pensable to the development and rapid growth | |
of the higher faeulties of men. Cities have al- | |
ways been the fireplaces of civilization whence | |
light and heat radiated out into the dark, cold | |
world.— Theodore Parker. | |
If you suppress the exorbitant love of pleas- | |
ure and money, idle curiosity, iniquitons pur- | |
suits and wanton mirth, what a stillness would | |
there be in the greatest cities ! —Bruyere. | |
The city an epitome of the social world. | |
All the belts of civilization intersect along its | |
avenues. It contains the products of every | |
moral zone. It is cosmopolitan, not only in a | |
national, but a spiritual sense.—Chapin. | |
Cities force growth, and make men talkative | |
and entertaining, but they make them artificial. | |
Emerson. | |
The most delicate beauty in the mind of | |
women is, and ever must be, an independenee | |
of artificial stimul:nts for content. It is not so | |
with men. The links that bind men to capitals | |
belong to the golden chain of civilization, — the | |
chain which fastens all our destinies to the | |
throne of Jove. And henee the larger propor- | |
tion of men in whom genins is pre-eminent have | |
preferred to live in cities, thongh some of | |
them have bequeathed to us the loveliest pte- | |
tures of the rural scenes in whieh they declined | |
to dwell.— Bulwer Lytton. | |
Jf you would know and not be known, live | |
in a city.—Colton. | |
‘wonder at thé rest. | |
The number of objects we see from living in | |
a large city amnses the mind like a perpetual | |
raree-show, without supplying it with any ideas. | |
ffazlitt. | |
There is such a difference between the pur- | |
suits of nen in great cities that one part of the | |
inhabitants lives to little other purpose than to | |
° Some have hopes and | |
fears, wishes and aversions, which never euter | |
into the thoughts of others; and inquiry is | |
laborionsly exerted to gain that which those | |
who possess it are ready to throw away.— | |
Johnson. | |
God the first garden made, and the first city | |
Cain.—Covley. : | |
J have fonnd by experience that they who | |
have spent all their lives in cities contract not | |
only an effeminacy of habit, but of thinking.— | |
Goldsmith. | |
I bless God for cities. Cities have been as | |
lamps of life along the pathway of humanity | |
and religion. Within them science has .given | |
birth to her noblest discoveries. Behind their | |
walls freedom has fonght her noblest battles. | |
They have stood on the surface of the earth | |
like great breakwaters, rolling back or turning | |
aside the swelling tide of oppression. Cities, | |
indeed, have been’ the cradles of human liberty. | |
They have been the active centres of almost all | |
ehureh and state reformation —Rev. Dr. Guthrie. | |
Men, by assoeiating in large masses, as in | |
camps and in cities, improve their talents, but | |
impair their virtues, and strengthen their minds, | |
but weaken their morals.— Colton. | |
The conditions of city life may be made | |
healthy, so far-as the physical constitution is | |
concerned ; but there is connected with the busi- | |
ness of the city so much competition, so much | |
rivalry, so much necessity for industry, that I | |
think it is a perpetual, chronie, wholesale viola- | |
tion of natural law. There are ten men that | |
can suecced in the conntry, where there is one | |
that can succeed in the city.—Beecher. | |
Great towns are but-a large sort of prison to | |
the soul, like cages to birds, or pounds to beasts, | |
Charron. | |
Onr large trading cities bear to me very | |
nearly the aspeet of monastic establishments in | |
which the roar of the mill-wheet and the crane | |
takes the place of other devotional music,-and | |
in which the worship of Mammon and Moloch | |
is eondueted with a tender reverenee and an ex- | |
act propriety ; the merchant rising to his Mam- | |
mon matins with the self-denial of an anchorite, | |
and expiating the frivolities into which he | |
may be beguiled in the conrse of the day by | |
late attendance at Mammon vespers-—-Rushin. | |
Like Melrose Abbey, large cities should es- | |
pecially be viewed by moonlight.— Willis. | |
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CIVILIZATION. | |
83 | |
COMFORT. | |
There is no solitude more dreadful for a | |
stranger, an isolated man, than a great city. | |
So many thousands of men and not one friend. | |
. Boiste. | |
CIVILIZATION. . | |
The ultimate tendency of civilization is to- | |
wards barbarism.— Hare. | |
Such is the diligence with which, in coun- | |
tries completely civilized, one part of mankind | |
labor for another, that wants are snpplicd faster | |
than they can be formed, and the idle. and Juxu- | |
rious find fife stagnate for want of ‘some desire | |
to keep itin.motion. This species of distress | |
furnishes a new’ set‘of occupations ; and multi- | |
tudes are busied from day to day in finding the | |
rich and the fortunate something to do.— | |
: . Johnson. | |
_ The most civilized people ‘are as near to | |
barbarism as the most polished steel is to rust. | |
Nations, like metals, have only a superficial | |
brilliancy.—Rivarol. | |
A semi-civilized state of society, equally re- | |
moved from the extremes of barbarity and of re- | |
finement, seems to be that particular meridian | |
under which‘all the reciprocities and gratuities | |
of hoSpitality do most really flourish and | |
abound. For it so happens that the ease, the | |
luxnry, and the abundance of the highest state | |
of civilization are: as productive of selfishness | |
as the difficultics, the privations, and the sterili- | |
ties of the lowest.— Colton. | |
Ever since there has been so great a demand | |
for type, there has been mnch tess lead to spare | |
for cannon-balls.— Bulwer Lytton. | |
There is often no material difference between | |
the enjoyment of the highest rankstand those of | |
the rudest’ stages of society. If the life of many | |
young English noblemen, and an Iriquois in | |
the forest, or an Arab in the desert are com- | |
pared, it will be found that their reat sources | |
of happiness are nearly the same.— © | |
Sir A. Alison. | |
CLEANLINESS. | |
Let thy mind’s sweetness have its operation | |
upon thy body, clothes, and habitation.— | |
~ ~ George Herbert. | |
“+ | |
So great is the effect of cleanliness upon | |
man, that it extends even to his moral charac- | |
ter. Virtne never dwelt long with filth; nor | |
do I helieve there ever was a person scrupulons- | |
ly attentive to cleanliness who was a consum- | |
mate villain.—Runford. | |
_ Even from the hody’s purity the mind re- | |
ceives a secret sympathetic ajd.— Thomson. | |
Beauty commonly prodnees love, but clean- | |
Hiness preserves it. Age itself is not unamiable | |
while it is preserved clean-and unsullied ; like.a | |
picee of metal constantly kept smooth and | |
right, we look on it with more pleasnre than | |
on a new vessel cankered with rust.—Addison. | |
Cortainly this is a duty, not asin, “ Clean- | |
liness is indeed next to godliness.”— | |
John Wesley. | |
CLEMENCY. | |
Clemency, which we make .2. virtue of, pro- | |
ceeds sometimes trom vanity, sometimes from | |
indolence, often from fear, and almost always | |
from a mixture of all three —Rochefoucanld. | |
In general, indulgence for those we know | |
is rarer than pity for those we know not.— | |
Rivarol. | |
No attribnte so well befits the exalted scat | |
supreme, and power’s disposing hand, as clem- | |
ency. Hach crime must from its quality be | |
judged ; and pity there should interpose, where | |
malice is not the aggressor.— Sir William Jones. | |
CLOUDS. | |
Those playful fancies of the mighty sky. | |
Albert Smith. | |
That looked as though an angel in his np- | |
ward flight had left his mantle floating in mid- | |
air.— Joanna Baillie. : | |
Was I deccived, or did:a sable clond turn | |
forth her silver ining on the night ?—Zilton. | |
COLOR. | |
Color is, in brief terms, the type of love. | |
Hence it is especially connected with the blos- | |
soming of the earth ; and again, with its fruits ; | |
also, with the spring: and fall of the leaf, and | |
with the morning and evening of the day, in | |
order to show the waiting of love ‘about the | |
birth and death of man.—Auskin. | |
COMFORT. | |
Of all the created comforts, God is the lend- | |
er; you are the borrower, not the owner.— | |
Rutherford. | |
It is a little thing to speak a phrase of com- | |
mon comfort, which by daily use has almost lost | |
its‘sense; yet on the ear of him who thonght to | |
die unmourned it will fall like choicest musie.— | |
Talfourd. | |
In the exhaustless catalogue of Heaven’s | |
mercies to mankind, the power we have of find- | |
ing some germs of comfort in the hardest trials | |
must ever occupy the foremost place; not only | |
hecause it supports ‘and upholds us when we | |
most require to be sustained, but becinse in | |
this source of consolation there is something, | |
we have reason to believe, of the Divine Spirit ; | |
something of that goodness which detects, | |
amidst our own evil doings, a redeeming quali- | |
ty ; something whieh, even in our fallen nature, | |
we possess in common with the angels ; which | |
had its being in the old time when they tred the | |
earth, and linger on it yet, in pity. —Liekens. | |
A beam of comfort, like the moon through | |
clouds, wilds the black horror, and directs my | |
way.—Dryden. | |
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COMMANDER. | |
84 | |
COMPARISON | |
The comforts we enjoy here below are not | |
like the anchor in the bottom of the sea that j | |
holds fast in a storm, but like the flag upon | |
the top of the mast that turns with every wind. | |
Rev. Christopher Love. | |
J want a sofa, as I want a friend, upon | |
which I can repose familiarly. If you can’t | |
have intimate terms and freedom with one and | |
the other, they are of no good.—Thackeray. | |
Giving comfort under affliction requires that | | |
penetration into the hnman mind, joined to | |
that experience which knows how to soothe, | |
how to reason, -and how to ridieule; taking the | |
utmost care never to apply those arts improper- | |
ly.—fvelding. ‘ | |
COMMANDER. | |
It is better to have 2 lion at the head of an | |
army of sheep than a sheep at the head of an | |
army of lions.—Le foe. | |
A brave captain is as a root, ont of which | |
(as branches) the courage of his soldiers doth | |
spring —Sir P. Sidney. | |
COMMERCE. | |
Commerce has made all winds her mistress. | |
Sterling. | |
Commerce, however we may please onrselves ' | |
with the contrary opinion, is one of the daugh- |. | |
ters of fortune, inconstant and deceitful as her | | |
mother. She chooses her residence where she | |
is least expected, and shifts her abode when her | |
continuance is, in appearance, most firmly set- | |
tled.—.Johnson. | |
A well-regulated commerce is not, like law, | |
physic, or divinity, to be overstocked with | |
hands ; but, on the contrary, flourishes by mul- | |
titudes, and gives employment to all its pro- | |
fessors.-—Addison. | |
The first inventions of commerce are, like | |
those of all other arts, cunning and short-sight- | |
ed.—-Curran. | |
As soon as the commercial spirit acquires | |
vigor, and begins to gain an ascendant in any | |
socicty, we discern a new genius in its policy, | |
its alliances, its wars, and its negotiations. — | |
Dr. W. Robertson. | |
It may almost be held that the hope of | |
commercial gain has done nearly as much for | |
the cause of truth as even the love of truth.— | |
Bovee. | |
Nature seems to have taken a particular care | |
to disseminate her blessings:among the different | |
regions of the world, with an eye to their mu- | |
tual intercourse and traffic among mankind, | |
that the nations of the several parts of the globe | |
might have a kind of dependence npon one | |
another, and be united together by their com- | |
mon interest.—Addison. | |
The trident of Neptune is the seeptre of the | |
world.—Antoine Lemierre. | |
COMMON-=SENSE. | |
_ Common-sense has given to words their or- | |
dinary signification, and common-sense is the | |
genius of mankind.—Guizot. | |
Fine sense-and exalted sense-are not half as | |
useful as common-sense, There are forty men | |
of wit for one man of sense. And he that will | |
earry nothing about him but gold will be every | |
day at.a loss for readier change.—Pope. | |
_ _Common-sense is the average sensibility and | |
intelligence of men undisturbed by individnal | |
peculiarities. — IV. 2. Alger. | |
Common-sense, alas in spite of our educa- | |
tional institutions, is a rare commodity —Bovee. | |
To act with common-sense, according to the | |
moment, is the best wisdom I know; and the | |
best philosophy, to do one’s duties, take the | |
world as it comes, submit respectfully to one’s | |
lot, bless the goodness that has given us so | |
much happiness with it, whatever it is, and | |
despise attectation.—Lorace Walpole. | |
In most old communities there is ‘a common- | |
sense cven in sensuality. Vice itself gets grad- | |
ually digested into a system, is amenable to | |
certain laws of conventional propriety and | |
honor, has for its object simply the gratification | |
of its appetites, and frowns -with quite a con- | |
servative air on all new inventions, all uncricd | |
experiments in iniquity.— WAipple. | |
Common-sense punishes ‘all departnres from | |
her, by foreing those who rebel into a desperate | |
war with all faets and experience, and into a | |
still more terrible civil war with cach other and | |
with themselves.— Colton. | |
Commun-sense is nature’s gift, but reason is | |
an art.— Beattie. | |
Sydney Smith playfully says that common- | |
sense was invented by Socrates, that philosopher | |
haying been onc of its most conspicuous ex- | |
emplars in conducting the contest of practical | |
sagacity against stupid prejudice and illusory | |
beliefs. — }Vhipple. | |
Common-sense is only a modification of | |
talent. Genius is an exaltation of it; the dif- | |
ference is, therefore, in the degree, not nature.— | |
; Bulwer Lytton. | |
COMPARISON. | |
I Jove not mine own parallel.— | |
Barry Cornwall. | |
Yet why repinc? I have seen mansions on | |
the verge of Wales that convert my farm-house | |
into a Hampton Court, and where they speak | |
of a glazed window as a great picee of mag- | |
nificence. All things figure by comparison.— | |
Shenstone. | |
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COMPASSION. 8 | |
5 COMPLACENCY. | |
The botanist looks upon the astronomer as | |
a-being unworthy of his regard; and he that | |
is growing great and happy by electrifying % | |
bottle wonders how the world ean be engaged | |
by trifling prattle about war and peace.— | |
Johnson. | |
The prowd are always most provoked by | |
pride.— Young. | |
When the moon shone, we did not see the | |
candle, so doth the greater glory dim the less; | |
a substitute shines brightly as a king, until a | |
king be by; and then his stateempties itself, as | |
doth an inland brook into the main of waters.— | |
Shakespeare. | |
COMPASSION, | |
Compassion to an offender who has grossly | |
violated the laws is, in effect, a cruelty to the | |
peaceable subject who has observed them.— | |
Junius, | |
Want of compassion (however inaccurate | |
observers have reported to the contrary) is not | |
to be numbered among the general faults of | |
mankind. The blick ingredient whieh fonls | |
our disposition is envy. Hence onr eyes, it is | |
to be feared, are seldom turned np to those who | |
are manifestly greater, better, wiser, or happicr | |
than onrselves, without some degree of malig- | |
nity, while we commonly look downward on | |
the mean and miserable with sufficient benev- | |
olence and pity —Feding. | |
It is the crown of justice, and the glory, | |
where it may kill with right, to save with pity. | |
Beaumont and Fletcher. | |
There never was any heart truly great and | |
generous that was not also tender and com- | |
passionate.—South. | |
Compassion is an emotion of which we | |
ought never to be ashamed. Graceful, partic- | |
ularly in youth, is the tear of sympathy, and | |
the heart that melts at the tale of woe. We | |
should not permit ease and indulgence to con- | |
tract our affections, and wrap us up in a selfish | |
enjoyment; but we shonld accustom ourselyes | |
to think of the distresses of human life, of the | |
solitary cottage, the dying parent, and the | |
weeping orphan. Nor ought we ever to sport | |
with pain and distress in any of our amuse- | |
ments, or treat even the meanest insect with | |
wanton cruelty.— Blair. | |
COMPENSATION, - | |
Tf the poor man cannot always get meat, | |
the rich man cannot always digest it.— | |
Henry Giles. | |
Where there is much general deformity | |
nature has often, perhaps generally, accorded | |
some one bodily grace even in over-measnre. | |
So, no doubt, with the intellect and disposition, | |
only it is frequently less apparent, and we give | |
ourselves but little trouble to discover it.— | |
J. F. Boyes. | |
There is'a-third silent party to all our bar- | |
gains. The nature and soul of things takes én | |
itself the guaranty of the fulfilment of every | |
contract, so that honest service cannot come to | |
loss. —'merson. | |
Nothing is pure and entire of a piece. All | |
advantages are attended with disadvantages. | |
A universal compensation prevails in all condi- | |
tions of being and-existence.—/Zume, | |
If I have lost ‘anything it was incidental ; | |
and the less money, the less trouble; the less | |
favor, theless envy, — nay, even in those cases | |
which put us out of our wits, itis not the loss | |
itself, but the estimate of the loss that troubles | |
us.— Seneca. | |
Curses always recoil on the head of him who | |
imprecates them. If you put a chain around | |
the neck of a slave, the other end fastens itself | |
around your own.—Jemerson. | |
As there is no worldly gain withont some | |
loss, so there is no worldly loss without some | |
gain. If thou hast lost thy wealth, thou hast | |
Yost some trouble with it; ifthon art degraded | |
from thy honor, thou art likewise freed from | |
the stroke of envy; if sickness hath blurred thy | |
beauty, it hath delivered thee from pride. Set | |
the allowance against the loss, and thou shalt | |
tind no Joss great; he loses Jittle or nothing | |
that reserves himself— Quarles, | |
Whatever difference may appear in the for- | |
tunes of mankind, there is, nevertheless, a cer | |
tain compensation of good and evil which | |
makes them equal.—Rochefoucauld. | |
The rose docs not bloom withont thorns. | |
True; but would that the thorns did not out- | |
live the rose !—Richter. | |
If poverty makes man groan, he yawns in | |
opulence. Wher fortune exempts us from | |
labor, nature overwhelins us with time.— | |
: Rivarol. | |
No evil is without its compensation.— Seneca. | |
Since we are exposed to inevitable sorrows, | |
wisdom is the art of finding compensation.— | |
- Levis. | |
COMPLACENCY. | |
Complaisance, though in itself it be scarce | |
reckoned in the number of moral virtues, is | |
that which gives a lustre to every talent a man | |
can be possessed of. It was Plato’s advice to | |
an unpolished writer that le should sacrifice to | |
the graces. In the same manner I would ad- | |
vise every man of lcarning, who wonld not | |
appear in the world«a mere scholar or philos- | |
opher, to make himself master of the social | |
yittue which I have here mentioned.— Addison. | |
Complaisance renders:a superior amiable, an | |
equal agrecable, nnd an inferior acceptable.— | |
Addison. | |
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COMPLAINING. | |
Complacency is a coin by the aid of sihich | | |
86 | |
CONCEIT. | |
Men edneate éach other in reason by contact | |
all the world can, for want of essential means, or collision, and keep each other sane by the | |
pay his club-bill in society. | |
Tt is necessary, | | |
very conflict of their separate hobbies. Society | |
finally, that it may lose nothing of its merits, to! asa whole is.the deadly enemy of the particular | |
associate judgment and prudence’ with it.— | |
. Voltaire. | |
COMPLAINING. | |
Complaint is the largest tribute heaven re- | |
ecives, and the sincerest part of our devotion.— | |
T have always despised the whining yelp of | |
complaint, and the cowardly feeble resolve.— | |
Burns. | |
The usnal fortune of complaint is to excite | |
contempt more than pity.—Johnson. | |
I will not be as those who spend the day in | |
complaining of headache, and the night in | |
drinking the wine that gives the headache.— | |
Goethe. | |
We lose the right of complaining. sometimes | |
by forbearing it; but we often treble the force.— | |
- Sterne. | |
COMPLIMENTS. | |
When two people compliment each other | |
with the choice of anything, each of them gen- | |
erally gets that which he likes least.—Pope. | |
Deference is the most complicate, the most | |
indirect, and the most elegant of all compli- | |
ments.—Shenstone. | |
Compliments of congratulation are always | |
kindly taken, and cost one nothing but pen, ink, | |
and paper. I consider them as drafts upon | |
good breeding, where the exchange is ‘always | |
greatly in favor of the drawer.— Chesterfield. | |
Compliments are only lies in court clothes.— | |
Sterling. | |
Though all compliments are lies, yet because | |
they are known to be such, nobody depends on | |
them, so there is no hurt in them; vou return | |
them in the same manner you receive them ; | |
yet it is best to make as few as oné can.— | |
Lady Gethin. | |
CONCEIT. | |
The miller imagines that the corn grows | |
only to make his mill turn.— Goethe. | |
Every man deems that he has precisely the | |
trials and temptations which are the hardest of | |
all for him to bear; but they are so, because | |
they are the very ones he needs.—Riehter. | |
A man — poet, prophet, or whatever he may | |
be—readily persnades himself of his right to | |
all the worship that is voluntarily tendered.— | |
Hawthorne. | |
An eagerness and zeal for dispute on every | |
subject, and with every one, shows great self- | |
sufficiency, that never-failing sign of great self- | |
ignorance.—Lord Chatham. | |
{.crotchet of each, and solitude is almost the only - | |
condition in which the acorn of conceit can | |
grow to the oak of perfect self-delusion.— | |
Whipple. | |
Conceit is the most contemptible and one of | |
the most odious qualities in the world. It is | |
vanity driven from. all other shifts, and foreed | |
to appeal to itself for admiration.— Hazlitt. | |
_ Coneeit is to nature what paint is to beanty; | |
it is not only needless, but impairs what it | |
would improve.—Pope. | |
No wonder we are all more or less pleased | |
with mediocrity, since it leaves us at rest, and | |
gives the same comfortable feeling as when one | |
associates with his equals.— Goethe. | |
Conceit in weakest bodies strongest Works.— | |
Shakespeare. | |
They say it was Liston’s firm belief, that he | |
was a.great and neglected tragic actor; they | |
say that every one of us believes in his heart, or | |
would like to have others believe, that he is | |
something which he is not.—Thackeray: | |
Conceit is just as natural a thing to human | |
minds as a centre is to a circle. But little- | |
minded people’s thoughts move in such small | |
circles that five minutes’ conversation gives you | |
an are long enough to determine their whole | |
curve. An are in the movement of a large | |
intellect does not differ sensibly from’a straight | |
line—Holmes. | |
Conceit *and confidence are both of them | |
cheats ; the first always imposes on itself, the | |
second freqnently deceives others too.— | |
Zimmermann. | |
The certain way to be cheated is to fancy | |
one’s self more cunning than others.— Charron. | |
None are so seldom found alone, and are so | |
soon tired of their own company, as those cox- | |
combs who are on the best terms with them- | |
selves.— Colton. . | |
Nature descends down.to infinite smallness. | |
Great men have their parasites; and, if you | |
take a large buzzing blue-bottle fly, and look at | |
it in a microscope, you may sce twenty or | |
thirty little ugly insects erawling about it, | |
which, doubtless, think their fly to be the bluest, | |
grandest, merriest, most ‘important animal in | |
the universe, and are convinced the world | |
would be at an end if it ceased to buzz.— | |
Sydney Smith. | |
Strong conceit, like a new principle, carries | |
all easily with it, when yet above common-sense. | |
Locke. | |
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CONCEIT. | |
87 | |
CONFIDENCE. | |
ss ee | |
There is more hope of a fool than of him | |
that is wise in his own conccit.— Bible. | |
Conceited men often seem a harmless kind | |
of men, who, by an overweening self-respect, | |
relieve others from the duty of respecting them | |
at all.—Beecher. | |
Be not wise in your own conccits.— Bible. | |
Onc whom the music of his own vain tongue | |
doth ravish like enchanting harmony. | |
. Shakespeare. | |
We judge of others for the most part hy | |
their good opinion of themselves; yet nothing | |
gives such offence, or creates so many. enemies, | |
as that extreme self-complacency or supercilions- | |
ness of manner, which appears to set the opinion | |
of every one else at defiance. —//uchitt. | |
Men are found to be vainer on account of | |
those qualities which they fondly believe they | |
have than of those which they really have.— | |
- Voiture. | |
No man was ever so much deceived by | |
another as by himselfi— Lord Greville. | |
Be not righteous overmnch.—Bible. | |
Man helieves himself always greater than he | |
is, and is esteemed Jess than he is worth.— | |
Goethe. | |
All affectation and display proceed from the | |
supposition of possessing something better than | |
the rest of the world possesses. Nobody is | |
vain of possessing two legs aud two arms; | |
because that is the precise quantity of cither | |
sort of limb which everybody possesses.— | |
Sydney Smith. | |
Every man, however little, makes a figure | |
in his own eyes.—Henry Home. | |
Talk abont conceit as mnch as you like, it | |
is to human. character what salt is to the ocean ; | |
it keeps ic sweet and renders it endurable. Say | |
rather it is like the natural ungnent of the sea- | |
fowl’s plumage, which enables him to shed the | |
rain that falls on him and the wave in which | |
he dips. When one has had all his conceit | |
taken ont of him, when he has Tost all his illu | |
sions, his feathers will soon soak through, and | |
he will fly no more.—Z/folmes. | |
Tt is the admirer, of himsclf, and not the | |
admirer of virtue, that thinks himself superior | |
to others. —Pluarch. | |
Conceited people are never without a-certain | |
-degree of harmless satisfaction wherewith to | |
flavor the waters of life—JMJademe Deluzy. | |
How wise are we in thonelt! how weak in | |
practice! our very virtue, Rke our will, is— | |
nothing.— Shirley. | |
Dangerous conceits dre in thelr nature poi- | |
sons, which at the first are searee found to dis- | |
taste, but wich a little act upon the blood, bum | |
like the mines of sulphnr.—Shakespeare. | |
There is scarcely nny man, haw much soever | |
he may despise the character of 2 flatterer, but | |
will condescend in the meanest manner to flat- | |
ter himself\—ftelding. | |
He who gives himself airs of importance | |
exhibits the credentials of impotence.—Lavatler. | |
The best of lessons, for a good many peo- | |
ple, wonld be to listen’ at a key-hole. Tt is*s | |
pity for such that the practice is dishonorable. | |
Madame Swetchine. | |
The more any one speaks of himself, the | |
less he likes to hear another talked of.—Luvater. | |
But the conceit of one’s self and the conceit | |
of one’s hobby are hardly more prolific of ec- | |
centricity than the conceit of one’s money. | |
avarice, the most lhatefnl and wolfish of all the | |
hard, cool, callons dispositions of selfishness, | |
has its own pecniiar caprices and crotchets. | |
The ingennities of its meanness defy all the cal- | |
culations of reason, and reach the miraculous | |
in subtlety.— Whipple. | |
The weakest spot in every man is where he | |
thinks himself to be the wisest.—Lmmons, | |
CONDUCT. | |
The integrity of men is to be measured by | |
their conduct, not by their professions.— Junius. | |
CONFESSION. | |
Why docs no man confess his vices? Be- | |
cause he ig yet in them ; it is for a waking man | |
to tell his dream.—Seneca. | |
If thon wouldst be justified, acknowledge | |
thy injustice; he that confesses his sin begins | |
his journey toward salvation ; he’ that is sorry | |
for it mends his pace ; he that forsakes it is -at | |
his journey’s end.— Quurles. | |
That conduct sometimes seems ridicnlous, | |
in the eyes of the world, the secret reasons for | |
which, may, in reality, be wise and solid.— | |
Rochkefoucauld. | |
CONFIDENCE. | |
Fields are won by those who believe in the | |
winning. —7. W. LLigginson. | |
All confidence which is not absolute and en- | |
tire is dangerous; there are few oceastons bat | |
where a man onght either to say all or conceal | |
all; for how little soever you have revealed of | |
your secret to a fricnd, you have already said | |
too mneh if you think it not safe to make him | |
privy to all particulars.—.7. Beawmont. | |
Ie who has lost confidence can lose nothing | |
nore.— Boiste. | |
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CONFIDENCE. | |
88 | |
CONSCIENCE. | |
To confide, even though to be betrayed, is | |
much better than to tcarn only to eonceal. In | |
the one case, your neighbor wrongs you; but | |
in the other you are perpetually doing injustice | |
to yourself. Simms. | |
If we are truly prudent, we shall eherish, | |
despite occasional delusions, those noblest and | |
happiest of our tendencies, — to love and to con- | |
fide —Bulwer Lytton. | |
Never put much confidence in such as put | |
no confidence in others. A man prone to sus- | |
peet evil is mostly looking in his neighbor for | |
what he sees in himself. As to the pure all things | |
are pure, even so to the impure all things are | |
impure.—Jfare. | |
We may have the confidenee of another | |
without possessing his heart. If his heart be | |
ours, there is no need of revelation or of confi- | |
dence, — all is open to us—Du Cour, | |
A noble heart, like the sun, showeth its | |
greatest confidence in its lowest estate.— | |
Sir P. Sidney. | |
Where there is any good disposition, eonfi- | |
dence begets faithfulness ; but Uistrust, if it do | |
not produce treachery, never fails to destroy | |
every inclination to ‘evinee filelity. Most peo- | |
ple disdain to clear themselves frum the aecusa- | |
tions of mere suspicion.—Jane Porter. | |
Trust not him who hath once broken faith. | |
Shakespeare. | |
There is something captivating in spirit and | |
intrepidity, to which we often yield as to a ‘re- | |
sistless power; nor can he reasonably expect | |
the confidence of others who too apparently dis- | |
trusts himselfi— Hazlitt. | |
For they can conquer who believe they ean. | |
ryden. | |
Trust him little who praises all, him less | |
who censures all, and him least who is indiffer- | |
ent about all.—Lavater. | |
People have generally three epochs in their | |
confidence in man. In the first they believe | |
him to be everything that is good, and they | |
are lavish with their friendship and eonfidence. | |
In the next, they have had experience, which | |
las smitten down their confidence, and they | |
then have to be careful not to mistrust every | |
one, and to put the worst construction upon | |
everything. Later in life, they learn that the | |
greater number of inen have much more good | |
in them than bad, and that, even when there | |
is cause to blame, there is more reason to | |
ity than condemn; and then a spirit of con- | |
fidence again awakens within them.— | |
Fredvika Bremer. | |
Confidence is a plant of slow growth in an | |
aged bosom.— Johnson, | |
Let not the quietness of any man’s temper, | |
much less the confidence he has in thy honesty | |
and goodness, tempt thee to contrive any mis- | |
chief against him ; for the more seeurely he re- | |
lies on thy virtue, and the less mistrust he has | |
of any harm from thee, the greater wickedness | |
will it be to entertain even the thonght of doing | |
him an injury —Bishop Patrick. | |
Trust him with little ‘who, without proofs, | |
trusts you with everything, or, when he has | |
proved you, with nothing.—Lavater. | |
It is unjust and absurd of persons advan- | |
cing in years, to expect of the young that confi- | |
dence should come all and only on their side; | |
the human heart, at whatever age, opens only | |
to the heart that opens in return. . | |
Miss Edgeworth. | |
Confidence in eonversation has a greater | |
share than wit.—Rochefoucauld. | |
Confidence in another man’s virtue is no | |
slight evidence of a man’s own,—JLontaigne. | |
To reveal imprudently the spot where we are | |
most sensitive and vulnerable is to invite a | |
blow. The demi-god Achilles admitted no one | |
to his eonfidence.—Aladame Swetchine. | |
CONSCIENCE. | |
OQ conscience! _conseienee ! | |
faithful friend.— Crabbe. | |
man’s most | |
What.a strange thing an old dead sin laid | |
away in a seerct drawer of the sonlis? Must | |
it some time or other be moistened with tears, | |
until i¢ comes to life again, and begins to stir in | |
our conscionsness, as the dry wheat-animalcule, | |
looking like a grain of dust, becomes alive if it | |
is wet with a drop of water 7—Holmes. | |
The conseience is more wise than science.— | |
Lavater. | |
I feel within me a peace above all earthly | |
dignities, a still-and quiet eonscience.— | |
Shakespeare. | |
The great chastisement of a knave is not to | |
be known, but to know himself—J. Petit Senn. | |
A palsy may as well shake an oak, or a | |
fever dry up a fountain, as either of them | |
shake, dry up, or impair the delight of eon- | |
science. For it lics within, it centres in the | |
heart, it grows into the very substance of the | |
soul, so that it accompanies a man to his | |
grave ; he never outlives it.—South. | |
What other dungeon fs so dark as one’s | |
own heart? What jailer so inexorable as one’s | |
self 1 —Hawthorne. | |
Ue that hath a scrupulous conscience is like | |
a horse that is not well weighed; he starts at | |
every bird that flies out of the hedge.—Selden. | |
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CONSCIENCE. | |
The most reckless sinner against his own | |
conscience has always in the background the: | |
vonsolation that he wilt go on in this course | |
only this thne, or only so long, but that-at such | |
atime he will amend.—/vehte. | |
Be more eareful of your conscience than oft | |
yeur estate. The latecr can be bought and sold ; | |
‘he former never.—Jfosed Ballon. | |
God’s vieegerent in the soul.— Buchan. | |
Some persons follow the dictates of their | |
sonseience only in the same sense in which a | |
voachman may be'said to follow the horses he | |
is driving.— IVhately. | |
Tt is as bad to clip conscience as toclip coin ; | |
it is as bad togive a counterfeit statement-as ‘a- | |
counterfeit bill —Chapin. | |
Every man, however good he may be, has a | |
yet better. man dwelling in him, which is prop- | |
erly “himself, but to whom nevertheless hé is | |
often unfaithful. It is to this interior and less | |
mutable being that we should attach ourselves, | |
not to the changeable, every-day man.— | |
ne Wilhelm von Humboldt. | |
Man’s conscience is the oracle of God! — | |
Byron. | |
Better be with the dead, whom wé, to gain | |
our place, have sent to peace, than on the tor- | |
ture of the mind to lie in restless eestasy.~— | |
Shakespeare. | |
Conscience, what‘art thou? thou tremendous | |
power! who dost inhabit us withont our leave ; | |
and art within ourselves, another self— Young. | |
Rules of society are nothing, one’s con- | |
science is the umpire.— Madame Dudevant. | |
God, in his wrath, has not left this world to | |
the merey of the subtest dialectician ; and all | |
arguments are happily transitory in their ef- | |
fect when they contradict the primal intuitions | |
of conscicnce and the inborn sentiments of the | |
heart.— WaAipple, | |
If thou wouldst be informed what God has | |
written concerning thee in heaven, look mto | |
thine- own bosom, and sec what graces he hath | |
there wrought in thee.—Fudlers © > . | |
What exile from himself can flee ? —Byron. | |
Conscience is, -at onee, the sweetest and | |
most troublesome of guests. It is the voice | |
which demanded Abel of his brother, or that | |
celestial harmony which vibrated in the cars of | |
the martyrs, and soothed their sufferings — | |
‘Madame ‘Swetchine. | |
The voice of conscience is so delicate that it | |
is casy to stifle it; bnt itis also so clear that it | |
is impossible to mistake it.—.adame de Staél. | |
89 | |
CONSCIENCE. | |
It is a blushing, shame-faced: spirit, that mu- | |
-tinies ina man’s bosom; it fills one full of ob- | |
stacles; it made me once restore a purse of | |
gold that by chance I found; it beggars any | |
mau that keeps.it; it is turned ont of all towns | |
and cities fora dangerous thing; and every | |
man that means to live well endeavors to trust | |
to himself, and live without it. Shakespeare. | |
Conscience is merely our own judgment of | |
the moral reetitude or turpitude of our own ac- | |
tions.— Locke. | |
Man's first care-shonld be to avoid the re- | |
proaches of his own heart; his next, to escape | |
the censures of the world. If the last interferes | |
with the former, it aught to be entirely negleet- | |
ed; but otherwise there cannot be a greater sat- | |
isfaction to~an honest mind than to see those | |
approbations which it gives itself seconded by | |
the applanses of the public.—<Addiéson. | |
A good conscience is a continual Christmas. | |
Franklin. | |
A tender conscience is an inestimable bless- | |
ing; that is, a conscience not only quick to | |
discern what is evil, but instantly to shim it, as | |
the cyclid closes itself against the mote.— | |
Rev. N. Adams. | |
I believe that we canuot live better than in | |
secking to become better, nor more agreeably | |
than having a clear conscienee.—Socrates. | |
There is no college for the conscicree.— | |
~ Theodore Parker. | |
Unnatural deeds do breed unnatural troubles ; | |
infected minds to their deaf pillows will dis- | |
charge their secrets. — Shakespeare. | |
The moral conscience is a truly primitive | |
faculty; it is a particular manner of feeling | |
which corresponds to the goodness of moral | |
actions, as taste is a manner of fecling which | |
corresponds to beauty. Love men, immolate | |
error.— St. Augustine. | |
O couseience, into what abyss of fears ‘and | |
horrors hast thon driven me, out of which I | |
find no way, from deep to deeper plunged.— | |
Milton. | |
A guilty conscience is Jike a whirlpool, | |
drawing in-all to itself which would otherwise | |
pass by. —Fuller. | |
A man’s own conscience is his sole tribunal, | |
and he should care no more for that phantom | |
“opinion ” than he should fear mecting a.ghoav | |
if he crossed the churchyard at dark.— | |
Bulwer Lytton. | |
Conscience is .a grent ledger book in which | |
all our offences ate written and registered, and | |
which time reveals to the senst ane feeling 0” | |
the oftender.— Burton. | |
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CONSCIENCE. | |
Conscience does make cowards of ns all.— | |
Shakespeare. | |
Preserve your conscience always soft and | |
sensitive. If but one sin force its way into | |
that tender part of the soul and dwell there, | |
the road is paved for a thousand iniqnities.— | |
. Watts. | |
Let us be thankful for health and compe- | |
tence, and, above all, for.2 quict conscience.— | |
Izaak Waiton. | |
We never do evil so thoroughly and heartily | |
as when led to it by an honest but perverted, | |
becanse mistaken conscience. —T. Edwards. | |
No man ever offended his own conscience | |
but first or last it was revenged npon him for it. | |
South. | |
Weare born to lose and to perish, to hope | |
and to fear, to vex ourselves and others; and | |
there is no antidote against a common calamity | |
but virtue; for the foundation of true joy is in | |
the conscience.— Seneca. | |
Conscience is the mirror of our souls, which | |
represents the errors of our lives in their full | |
shape.— Bancroft. | |
A quiet conscience makes one so serenc.— | |
Byron. | |
Our faults afflict us more than our good | |
deeds console. Pain is ever nppermost in the | |
conscience as in the heart.—iMadame Swetchine. | |
In the commission of evil, fear no man so | |
much as thyself; another is but one witness | |
against thee, thou art a thonsand; another | |
thou mayest avoid, “thyself thon canst not. | |
Wickedness is its own punishment.—- Quarles. | |
What a fool is he who locks his door to keep | |
ont spirits, who has in his own bosom a spirit | |
he dares not meet ‘alone; whose voice, smothered | |
fay down, and piled over with mountains of | |
earthliness, is yet like the forewarning trumpet | |
of doom !—Afrs. Stowe. | |
Conscience is the chamber of justice.— | |
Origen. | |
Even in the fiercest uproar of our stormy | |
passions, conscience, though in her softest whis- | |
pers, gives to the supremacy of rectitude the | |
voice ofan undying testimony.— Chalmers. | |
The pulse of reason.— Coleridge. | |
O the wound of couscience is no sear, and | |
time cools it not with his wing, but merely keeps | |
it open-with his scythe. —Hichter. | |
Conscience, that vicegerent of God in the hu- | |
man heart, whose “still small voice ” the loudest | |
revelry cannot drown.— IV. £7. Harrison. | |
90 | |
CONSCIENCE. | |
Remorse of conscience is like an old wound ; | |
aman is in no condition to fight under such | |
circumstances, ‘The pain abates his vigor and | |
takes np too much of his attention.— | |
Jeremy Collier. | |
The conscience is the inviolable asylum of | |
the liberty ‘of man.—Napoleon. ‘ | |
A gocd conscience fears no witnesses, but a | |
guilty conscience is solicitous even in solitnde. | |
Jf we do nothing but what is honest, let all the | |
world know it; but if otherwise, what does it | |
signify to have nobosly else know it so iong as | |
1 know it myself? Miserable is he who slights | |
that witness ! —Seneca. | |
A man never ontlives his conscience, and | |
that, for this cause only, he cannot outlive him- | |
self.— South. | |
A good conscience is to the soul what health | |
is to the body; it preserves a constant ease | |
and serenity within us, and more than. counter- | |
yails all the calamities and afflictions which can | |
possibly befall us.—Addison. | |
Conscience is the sentinel of virtue.— Johnson. | |
Conscience signifies that knowledge which a | |
man hath of his own thoughts and actions; and | |
beeanse, if a man judgeth fairly of his actions | |
by comparing them with the law of God, his | |
mind will approve or condemn him ; this: knowl- | |
edge or conscience may be both an accuser and | |
a judge.— Swift. | |
Alas, that we should be so unwilling to lis- | |
ten to the still and holy yearnings cf the heart ! | |
A god whist | |
pers quite softly in our breast, softly | |
yet audibly; telling us what we ought to seek | |
and what to shun.— Goethe. | |
‘Most men are afraid of a bad name, bnt few | |
fear their consciences.—Pliny. | |
It is 1 man’s own dishonesty, his crimes, his | |
wickedness, and boldness, that takes away from | |
him soundness of mind; these are the furies, | |
these the flames and firebrands, of the’ wicked.— | |
Cicero. | |
Conscience is a judge in every man’s breast, | |
which none ean cheat or corrupt, and perhaps | |
the only incorrupt thing about him ; yet, inflex- | |
ible and honest as this jndge is (however pollut- | |
ed the bench on which he sits), no man can, in | |
my opinion, enjoy any ‘applause which is not | |
there adjudged to be his due.—Felding, | |
The world will never be in any manner of | |
order or tranquility until men are firmly con- | |
vinced that conscience, honor, and credit are all | |
in one interest.— Steele. | |
There is no future pang can deal that jus- | |
tice on the self-condemned he deals on his own | |
| son). —Byron. | |
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CONSCIENCE. | |
91 | |
CONSCIENCE. | |
Labor to keep alive in your breast that lit- | |
tlo spark of celestial tire called conscicnee.— | |
Washington. | |
A man, so to speak, who is not able to | |
bow to his own conscience every morning is | |
hardly in a condition to respectiully salute the | |
world-at any other time of the diy.— | |
Douglas Jerrold. | |
~A wonnded conscience is ‘Able to unparadise | |
paradise itself.—/uller. | |
There is one court whose. “ findings” are | |
incontrovertible, and whose ‘sessions are beld in | |
the chambers of our own breast.—Zfosea Ballou, | |
The good or ‘evil we confer on_ others very | |
often, I believe, recoils on ourselves; for as | |
men of a benign disposition enjoy their own | |
acts of benefieence equally with those to whom | |
‘they are done, so there are scarce any Natures | |
so entirely diabolical fas to be capable of doing | |
injuries without-paying themselves some pangs | |
for the ruin which they bring on their fellow- | |
ereatures.—ielding. | |
What we call conscience, in many instances, | |
is only a wholesome fear of the constable— | |
Bovee. | |
As the stag which the hnntsman has hit | |
flies through bush and brake, over stock and | |
stone, thereby exhansting his strength but not | |
expelling the deadly bullet from his body; so | |
does experience show that they who -have | |
troubled consciences run from place to place, | |
but carry with them wherever they -go their | |
dangerous wounds.— Gotthold. | |
Conscience is the living law, and honor is to | |
this law what piety is to religion. —Boufflers. | |
In matters of conscience first thoughts are | |
best ; in matters of prudence last thoughts-are | |
best.— Rev. Robert Hall. | |
A good conscience is never lawless in: the | |
Worst regulated state, and will provide those | |
laws for itself which the neglect of legislators | |
had forgotten to supply.—Lfteldiny. | |
There is no class of men so difficult to be | |
managed in aw State, as those whose intentions | |
are honest, but whose conscicnees are bewitched: | |
Napoleon. | |
Conscience has no more to do with gallantry | |
than it has with polities —Sheridan. | |
The impnise which directs to right conduct, | |
and deters from crime, is not only older than | |
the ages of nations and cities, but cocval with | |
that Divine.Being who sces and rules: both | |
heaven ‘and earth.— Cicero. | |
If you should escape the censure of others, | |
hope not to escape your own.— Zenry Home. | | |
Conscience is tho voice of the sonl, the pas- | |
sions are ‘the voice of the body. Is it ustunish- | |
ing that often these‘two languages contradict | |
cach other,.and then to which mast we listen 3 | |
Tvo often reason deecives ns; we have only too | |
much acquired the right-of refusing to Hsten to | |
it; but conscience never deceives us; it is the | |
true guide of man; it is to man what instinet | |
is to the body, which follows it, obeys nature, | |
and never is afraid of going astray.—Ltousseau. | |
No infallible oracle out of the breast.— | |
Rev. Dr. Hedge. | |
Leave her to heaven, and to those thorns | |
that in her bosom lodge, to prick and sting her. | |
Shakespeure. | |
No outward tyranny can reach the mind. | |
If conscience plays the tyrant, it wonld be | |
greatly for the benefit of the world that she | |
were more arbitrary, and far less placable than | |
some men find her.—/unius. | |
Conscience warns us as a friend before it | |
punishes us as a judge.— Stanislaus. | |
We should have all our communications | |
with men, as in the presence of God; and with | |
God, as in the presence of men.— Colton. | |
Conscience and ecovetousness are never to | |
be reconciled; like fire and water they always | |
destroy each other, according to the predominan- | |
ey of the element.—Jeremy Collier. | |
Conteience is God's deputy in the soul.— | |
Rev. T. Adams. | |
Who has a heart so pure bnt some un- | |
cleanly apprehensions keep leets and law-days, | |
and in session sit with meditations awful? — | |
Shakespeare. | |
Iam more afraid of my own heart than of | |
the Pope and all his Cardinals. I have within | |
me the great pope, selfi—Luther. | |
Our conscience is a fire within us, and our | |
sins as the fnel; instead of warming, it wilt | |
scorch’ us, unless the firel. be removed, or the | |
heat of it allayed by penitential tears.— | |
Dr, Mason. | |
Man is naturally more desirons of a qnict | |
and approving, than of.a vigilant and tender | |
conscience, — more desirous of sceurity than of | |
safety.— Whately. | |
Conscience is ‘a: thousand swords.— | |
- Shakespeare. | |
Be fearful only of thyself, and stind in.awe | |
of none “more than of thine own conscience. | |
There is a-Cato inevery'man; a severe censor | |
of his manners. And he that reverences this | |
judge will seldom do anything he need repent | |
of.— Burton. | |
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CONSERVATISM. | |
92 | |
CONSOLATION. | |
Conscience is justice’s best minister; it | |
threatens, promises, rewards, and punishes and | |
keeps all under its-control; the busy must at- | |
tend to its remonstranees, the most powerful | |
submit to its reproof, and the angry endure its | |
upbraidings. While conscience is our friend, | |
all is peace; but if onec offended, farewell the | |
tranquil mind.—Afary Wortley Montagu. | |
Conscience and wealth are not‘always neigh- | |
bors.—ALussinger. | |
Conseience, that boon companion who sets a | |
man free under the strong breastplate of inno- | |
cence, that bids him on and fear not.—Dante. | |
The great theatre for virtue is conseience.— | |
Cicero, | |
In the wildest anarchy of man’s insurgent | |
appetites and sins there is still a reclaiming | |
voice, —a voice which, even when in practice | |
disregarded, it is impossible not to own; and | |
to which, at the very moment that we refuse | |
our obedience, we find that we cannot refuse | |
the homage of what ourselves do fecl and ac- | |
knowledge to be the best, the highest principles | |
of our nature.— Chalmers. : | |
CONSERVATISM. | |
A conservative is a man who will not look | |
at the new moon, out of respect for that “ an- | |
cient institution,” the old one.—Douglas Jerrold. | |
We are reformers in spring and summor ; | |
in autumn and winter we stand by the old; re- | |
formers in the morning, conservers at night. | |
Reform is aflirmative, conservatism negative ; | |
conservatism goes for comfort, reform for truth. | |
Emerson. | |
A consorvative young man has wound up | |
his life before it was unrecled. We expect old | |
men to be conservative; but when a nation’s | |
young men are so, its funeral bell is -already | |
rung.—Beecher, | |
The conservative may elamor against re- | |
form, but he might as well clamor against the | |
centrifugal force. He sighs for the “ good old | |
times,” — he might as well wish the oak back | | |
into the acorn.— Chapin. | |
+ Conservatism is a very good thing; but | |
how many conservatives announce principles | |
which might have shocked Dick Turpin, or | |
nonsensicalities flat enongh to have raised con- | |
tempt in Jerry Sneak! — Whipple. | |
CONSISTENCY. | |
With. consisteney a great soul has simply | |
nothing to do. He may as well concern him- | |
self with his shalow on the wall.—Zmerson. | |
As flowers always wear their own colors and | |
give forth their own fragrance every day alike, | |
so should Christians maintain their eharacter at | |
all times‘and under all cirewnstances.— Beecher. | |
CONSOLATION. | |
One should never be very forward in offer- | |
ing spiritual consolations to those in distress. | |
These, to be of any service, must be self-evolved | |
in the first instance.— Coleridge. | |
Queen Elizabeth, in her hard, wise way, | |
writing to a mother who had lost her son, tells | |
her that she will be comforted in time; and | |
why should she not do for herself what the | |
mere lapse of time will do for her 4? —Bentley. | |
If-a man makes me keep my distanec, the | |
comfort is he keeps his own at the same time.— | |
Consolation, indiscreetly pressed upon us | |
when we are suffering under afiliction only | |
serves to increase our pain and to render our | |
igrief more poignant —Lousseau, | |
As the bosom of earth blooms again and | |
again, having buried out of sight the dead | |
leaves of autumn, and Joosed the frosty bands | |
of winter; so does the heart, in spite of all | |
that melancholy pocts write, feel many re- | |
newed springs and summers. It is a beautiful | |
and a blessed world we live in, and whilst that | |
life Jasts, to lose the enjoyment of it is a sin.— | |
A. W. Chambers. | |
In a healthy state of the organism all | |
wounds have a tendeney to heal.— | |
Madame Swetchine. | |
Nothing does so establish the mind amidst | |
the rollings and turbulence of present things, | |
as a lookeabove them and a look beyond then, | |
— above them, to the steady and good hand by | |
which they are ruled ; and beyond them, to the | |
sweet and beautiful end to which, by that hand, | |
they will be brought.—Jeremy Taylor. | |
God has commanded time to console the | |
unhappy.— Joubert. | |
Before an affliction is digested, consolation | |
ever comes too soon ; and after it is digested, it | |
comes too Jate; bnt there is a mark between | |
these two, as fine almost :as a hair, for a com- | |
forter to take-aim at.—Sterne. | |
For every bad there might be a worse ; and | |
when one breaks his leg, Jet him be thankful it | |
-was not his neck.—Bishop Hail. | |
Apt words have power to suage the tumors | |
of a troubled mind.—ALilion. | |
Whoever ean tnrn his weeping eyes to | |
heaven has lost nothing; for there above is | |
everything he can wish for here below. He | |
only is a loser who persists in Jooking down on | |
the narrow plains of the present time— Richter. | |
Consolation heals without contaet; some- | |
what like the blessed air which we need but to | |
breathe. —Madame Swetchine. | |
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CONSPIRACY 93 CONTEMPT. | |
CONSPIRACY. Contempt is not a thing to be despised. It | |
Combinations of wickedness would over- | |
whelm the world by ¢he advantage which licen- | |
tious principles afford, did not those who have | |
long practised pertidy grow faithless to cach | |
other.— Johnson. | |
Conspiracies no sooner should be formed | |
than executed.—A ddison. | |
Conspiracies, like thunder-clonds, shonid in | |
a moment form and strike like lightning, ere | |
the sonnd is heard.—John Dow. | |
CONSTANCY. | |
As the faithful soldier never leaves his eamp | |
without the leave or command of his captain, | |
so the good man, placed in this world in sch a | |
position as God pleases, never seeks to stir or | |
leave it without the permission of his chiefi— | |
Amayot. | |
O Heaven! Were man but constant, he | |
were perfect. —Shakespeare. | |
The business of constancy chiefly is bravely | |
tostand to, and stoutly to suffer those incon- | |
venicnces which are not otherwise possible to be | |
avoided.—aontaigne. | |
Constancy is a saint without a worshipper. | |
Boufflers. | |
I mnst confess there is something in the | |
ehangeableness and inconstancy of hnman na- | |
ture that very often both dejects and terrifies | |
me. Whatever I am at present, I tremble to | |
think what I may be. While T find this princi- | |
ple in me, how can I assure myself that { shall | |
¢ always true to my God, my friend, or my- | |
self. In short, without constancy there is nei- | |
ther love, friendship, nor virtue in the world.— | |
Addison. | |
The constancy of the wise is only the art of | |
keeping disquietude to one’s self.—Rochefoucauld. | |
I am constant as the northem star, of whose | |
true-fixed and resting quality there is no fellow | |
in the firmament.—Shakespeare. | |
CONTEMPLATION. | |
In order to improve the mind, we ought | |
less to learn than to contemplate.—Descartes. | |
There is a sweet pleasure in contemplation ; | |
all others grow flat and insipid upon frequent | |
use; and when aman hath rin through a set | |
of vanities, in the declension of his age he | |
knows not what to do with himself if he cannot | |
think.—Sir TOP. Blount. | |
CONTEMPT. | |
None but the contemptible are apprehensive | |
of contempt.—Rochefoucauld. | |
Contempt is the only way to triumph over | |
ealumny.—Jfadame de ALaintenon. | |
may be borne with ncalm ‘and equal inind, but | |
no man, by lifting his head high, can pretend | |
that he does not perceive the scorns thit' are | |
poured down upon hint from above.—Burke. | |
Contempt is a kind of gangrene, which, if it | |
seizes one part of a character, corrupts all the | |
rest by degrees. — Johnson. | |
Speak with contempt of no man. Every | |
one hath a tender sense of reputation. And | |
every man hath a sting, which he may, if pro- | |
voked too far, dart gut.at one time or other,— | |
Burton. | |
It is very often more necessary to conccal | |
contempt than resentment, the former being | |
never forgiven, but the latter sometimes forgot. | |
Chesterfield. | |
Contempt is frequently regulated by fashion. | |
Zimmermann. | |
I have unlearned contempt; it is a sin that | |
is engendered earliest in the soul, and doth be- | |
set it likea poison worm feeding on all its beauty. | |
Wilkes. | |
Contempt naturally implies a man’s esteem- | |
ing of himself greater than the person whom he | |
contemns; he therefore that slights, that con- | |
temns an affront is properly superior to it; | |
and he conquers an injnry who conqners his re- | |
sentments of it. Socrates, being kicked by an | |
ass, did not think it « revenge proper for Soc- | |
rates to kick theass again.— South. | |
Despise not any man, and do not spurn | |
anything. For there is no man that hath not | |
his hour, nor is there anything that hath not | |
its place —Fabbi Ben Azat. | |
Contempt of others is the truest symptom of | |
a base and bad heart, — while it suggests itself | |
to the mean and the vile, and tickles their little | |
fancy on every occasion, it never enters the | |
great and good mind bnt on the strongest mo- | |
tives ; noris it then a welcome guest, — aflording | |
only an uneasy sensation, and bringing:always | |
with it a mixture of concern‘and compassion.— | |
. Fielding. | |
He who feels contempt for'any living thing | |
hath faculties that he hath never used, and | |
thought with him is in its infancy. — Wordsworth. | |
Wrongs are often forgiven, but contempt | |
never is. Onr pride remembers it-forever. a | |
implies a discovery of weaknesses, which we are | |
much more careful -to. conceal than crimes. | |
Many a man will confess his crimes to a com- | |
mon friend, but I never knew a man who would | |
tell his silly weaknesses to his most intimate | |
one.— Chesterfield. | |
0, what 2 deal of scorn looks beautiful in | |
thecontempt and anger of his lip! —Shakespeare. | |
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CONTENTMENT. | |
9+ | |
CONTENTMENT | |
The basest and meanest of al] human beings | |
are generally the most forward to despise others. | |
So that the most contemptible are gencrally the | |
most contemptuous.—/%elding. | |
Christ saw much in this world to weep over, | |
and much to pray over; but he saw nothing in | |
it to look upon with contempt Chapin. | |
CONTENTMENT. | |
Contentment is natural wealth; Inxury, ar- | |
tificial poverty.— Socrates. | |
The fonntain of content must spring up in | |
the mind; and he who has so little knowledge | |
of human nature as to seck happiness by chang- | |
ing anything but his own disposition will | |
waste his life in fruitless efforts,'and multiply | |
the griefs which he proposes to remove.— | |
Johnson. | |
One who is contented with what he has done | |
will never become farnous for what he will do. | |
He has lain down to die. The grass is already | |
growing over him,—Bovee. | |
There is scaree any lot so low, but there is | |
something in it to satisfy the man whom it has | |
befallen ; Providence having so ordered things | |
that in every man’s cup, how bitter soever, | |
there are some cordial drops, — some good cir- | |
cumstances, which, if wisely extracted, are suf- | |
ficient for the purpose he wants them, — that is, | |
‘to make him contented, -and, if not happy, -at | |
least resigned.— Sterne. . | |
Tearn that I eat, get that I wear; owe no | |
man hate, envy no man's happiness; glad of | |
other men’s good, content with my harnn.— | |
Shakespeare. | |
I say to thee be thou satisfied. It is record- | |
ed of the hares that with a general consent they | |
went to drown themselves out of a. feeling of | |
their misery ; but when they saw a company of | |
frogs more fearful than they were, they began | |
to take courage and comfort again. Confer | |
thine estate with others.— Burton. | |
None is poor bnt the mean im mind, the | |
timorous, the weak,~and unbelieving; none is | |
wealthy bat the affluent in soul, who is satis- | |
fied and floweth over.— Tupper. | |
My God, give me neither poverty nor-riches ; | |
but whatsoever it may be thy will to give, give | |
me with it a heart which knows humbly to ac- | |
quiesce in what is thy will— Gotthold. | |
If men knew what felicity dwells in the cot- | |
tage of a godly man, how sonnd he sleeps, how | |
qnict his rest, how composed his mind, how free | |
from care, how easy his position, how moist his | |
mouth, how joyful his heart, they would never | |
admire the noises, the diseascs, the throngs of | |
passions, and the violence of unnatural ap- | |
petites.that fill the house of the luxurious and | |
the heart’of the ambitious.—Jeremy Taylor. | |
The chief secret of comfort lies in not suffer- | |
ing trifles to vex us, and in prudeutly culti- | |
vating our undergrowth of small pleasures, | |
since very few great ones, alas! are let on long | |
Teases.— Sharp. | |
__Withont content, we shall find it almost as | |
difficult to please others as ourselves.— | |
Lord Greville. | |
There is some help for. all the defects of | |
fortune; for, if-a man cannot attain to the | |
length of his wishes, he may have his remedy | |
by entting of them shorter.— Cowley. | |
For no chance is evil to him who is content, | |
and to-a man nothing is miserable unless it is | |
unreasonable. No man can make another man | |
to be his slave unless he hath first enslaved him- | |
self to life'and death. No pleasure or pain, to | |
hope or fear ; command these passions, and you | |
are freer than the Parthian kings.— | |
Jeremy Taylor. | |
The highest point outward things can bring | |
mnto, is the contentment of the mind; with | |
which no estate ean be poor without which all | |
estates will be miserable.—Sir P. Sidney. | |
Tf two angels were sent down from heaven, — | |
one to condnet an empire, and the other to | |
sweep a street, — they would feel no inclination | |
to change employments.—John Newton. | |
Onr content is our best having — | |
Shakespeare. | |
Learn to.be pleased with everything, with | |
wealth so far as it makes us beneficial to | |
others; with poverty, for not having much to | |
care for; and with obscurity, for being unenvied. | |
Plutarch. | |
It is right to be contented with what we | |
have, but never with what we are.— | |
"Sir James Mackintosh, | |
Trne contentment depends not upon What | |
we have; a tub was large enough for Diogenes, | |
but a world was too little for Alexiander.— Colton. | |
The point of aim for our vigilance to hold | |
in view is to dwell upon the brightest parts in | |
every prospect, to call off the thonghts when | |
running upon disagreeable objects,tand strive | |
to be pleased swith the present cirenmstances | |
surrounding us.—Rev. J. Tucker. | |
Contentment produces, in some measnre, all | |
those effects which the alchemist usnally as- | |
cribes to what he calls the philosopher’s stone ; | |
and if it does not bring riches, it does the same | |
thing by banishing the desire for them.— | |
, Addison. | |
T have often said that all.the unhappiness of | |
men comes from not knowing -how to remain | |
quiet in a chamber.—Pascal. | |
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CONTENTIIENT. | |
95 | |
CONTRAST. | |
If we are at peace with God-and our own | |
conscience, what cnemy among men need we | |
fear ? ~—LHosea Bullou. | |
Enjoy your own fife without comparing it | |
with that of another.— Condorcet. | |
Poor and content is rich, and rich enough ; | |
but riches, fineless, is as poor as winter to him | |
that ever fears he shall be poor. Shakespeare. | |
That is true plenty, nat to have, but not to | |
want riches.—St. Chrysostom. | |
A contented mind is the greatest blessing a | |
man can enjoy in this world; and if in the | |
present life his happiness arises from the subdu- | |
ing of his desires, it will arise in the next from | |
the gratitication of them.+-Addison. | |
Content is to the mind like moss to a tree; | |
it bindeth it up so.as to stop its growth.— | |
Halifax. | |
“What you demand is here, or at Ulubree.” | |
You traverse the world in search of happiness, | |
which is within: the reach of every man; a con- | |
tented inind confers it on all.—Horace. ~ | |
We can console ourselves for not having | |
great talents as we console ourselves for not | |
having great places. ‘We can be above both in | |
our hearts.— Vauvenargues. | |
May I always have a heart superior, with | |
economy suitable, to my fortune.— Shenstone. | |
Take the good with the evil, for ye all are | |
the pensioners of God, and none may choose or | |
refuse the cup his wisdom mixeth.— Tupper. | |
A sense of contentment makes us kindly and | |
benevolent to others; we are not chafed and | |
galled by eares which are tyrannical because | |
original. We are fulfilling our proper destiny, | |
and those around us feel the sunshine of our | |
own hearts. — Bulwer Lytton. | |
Contentment consisteth not in adding more | |
fuel, but in taking away some fire.—/'uller. | |
Every one is well or ill at case, according | |
as he finds himself; not he whom the world | |
believes, but he who believes himself to be so, | |
is content; and in him alone belief gives itself | |
being and reality. —lfontacgne. . | |
Happy the heart to whom God has given | |
enough strength and courage to suffer for him, | |
to find happiness in ‘simplicity and the happi- | |
ness of others.— Lavater. | |
. Naught is had, all is spent, where our desire | |
is got without content.—Shakespeare. | |
What is the highest secret of victory “and | |
ce? To will what God wills, and strike a | |
eague with destiny. — IW. 2B. Alger. | |
Hic is richest. who is content with the least; | |
for content is the wealth of nature.— Socrates. | |
Alas! if the principles of contentment are | |
not within us, the height of station and | |
worldly grandeur will a& soon _add -a cubit to’a | |
man’s stature as to his happiness. —Sterne. | |
Tf we will take the good we find, asking no | |
questions, we shall have heaping measures. | |
The great gifts are not got by analysis.’ Lvery- | |
thing good is on the highway. The middle | |
region of our being is the temperate zone.— | |
Emerson. | |
Contentment is‘a: pear) of great price, and | |
whoever procures it-at the expense of ten thou- | |
sand desires makes “a wise ‘anda happy pur- | |
chase.— Balguy. | |
Contentment gives a crown where fortune | |
hath denied it.—/ ord. | |
Contentment is not happiness. An oyster | |
may be contented. Happiness is compounded | |
of richer cloments.—Bouee. | |
It conduces much to our content if we pass | |
by those things which happen to our trouble, | |
and consider that whieh is pleasing and pros- | |
perous; that by the representation of the better | |
the worse may be blotted ont.—Jeremy Taylor. | |
CONTRADICTION. | |
We must not contradict, but instruct him | |
that contradicts ns; for a madinan is not cured | |
by-another ruining mad also.—Antisthenes. | |
CONTRAST. : | |
a\ learned man is a tank; a wise man is 2 | |
spring.— W. R. Alyer. | |
As the rose-tree is composed of the sweetest | |
flowers and the sharpest thorns, — as the heavens | |
are sometimes overcast, alternately tempestnous | |
and serene; so is the life of man intermingled | |
with: hopes and fears, with joy-and ‘sorrows, | |
with pleasure and with pains.—Burton. | |
Do not speak of your happiness to a man | |
less fortunate than yourself.— Phearch. | |
By Heaven ! upon the same man, as upon a | |
vine-planted mount, there grow more kinds of | |
wine than one; on the sonth side something | |
little worse-than nectar, on-the north side’some- | |
thing little better than vinegar.—Aichter. | |
The rose and the thorn, sorrow ‘and glad- | |
ness, are linked together.—Saadi. | |
Strange as it may seem, the most ludicrous | |
lines I ever wrote have been written in the sad- | |
dest mood.— Cowper. | |
The superiority of some men is merely local. | |
They are great because their associdtes aro | |
little. —Johuson. | |
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CONTRAST. | |
96 | |
CONVERSATION. | |
No man needs money so much as he who | |
despises it.—Richter. | |
Tf there be light, then there is darkness ; if | |
cold, then heat; if height, depth also ; if’ solid, | |
then fluid; hardness and softness, roughness | |
and smoothness, calm and tempest, prosperity | |
and adversity, life and death.— Pythagoras. | |
The coldest bodies warm with opposition, | |
the hardest sparkle in collision. — Junius. | |
All things are donble, one against another. | |
Good is set against evil, and life against death ; | |
so is the godly against the sinner, and the sin- | |
ner against*the godly. Look upon all the | |
works of the Most High, and there are two and | |
two, one against another.—Licclesiasticus. | |
Nature hath meal and bran, contempt and | |
grace.— Shakespeare. | |
Cruel men are the greatest lovers of mercy, | |
avaricious men of gencrosity, and proud men of | |
humility ; that is to say, in others, not in them- | |
sclves.— Colton. | |
Shadow owes its birth to light. —Gay. | |
Men and statues that are admired in an | |
elevated situation have a very different cffect | |
upon us when we approach them; the first | |
appear less than we imagined them, the last | |
bigger.—Lord Greville. | |
_. The good often sigh more over little faults | |
than the wicked over great. Hence an old | |
proverb, that the stain appears greater accord- | |
ing to the brilliancy of what it touches.— | |
Palmiert. | |
The presence of the wretched is a burden to | |
to the happy ; and alas! the happy still more so | |
to the wretched.—Goethe. | |
Those that are good manners at the court | |
are as ridiculous in the country as the behavior | |
of the country is most mockable at the court.— | |
Shakespeare. | |
Joy and grief are never far apart. In the | |
same street the shutters of one house are closed, | |
while the curtains of the next are brushed by | |
shadows of the dance. A wedding-party returns | |
from church, and a funeral winds to its door. | |
The smiles and the sadnesses of life are the tragi- | |
comedy of Shakespeare. Gladness and sighs | |
brighten and dim the mirror he beholds.— | |
Willmott. | |
Some people with great merit are very dis- | |
gusting; others with great faults are very | |
pleasing.—Rochefoucauld. | |
Is the jay more precions than the lark be- | |
cause his feathers are more beautiful? Or is | |
the adder better than the eel because his | |
painted skin contents the eye ? —Shakespeare. | |
Where there is much light the shadow is | |
deep.— Goethe. | |
CONVERSATION. | |
There is no real life but cheerful life; there- | |
fore valetudinarians should be sworn, before they | |
enter mto company, not to. say a word of them- | |
selves until the meeting breaks up.—Addison. | |
He who sedulously attends, pointedly asks, | |
calmly speaks, coolly answers, and ceases when | |
he has no more to say, is in possession of some | |
of the best requisites of man.—Lavater. | |
To speak well supposes a habit of attention | |
which shows itself in the thought; by langnage | |
we learn to think, and above all to develop | |
thonght.—Bonstetten. | |
As it is the characteristic of great wits to | |
say much in few words, so it is of smal] wits to | |
talk much and say nothing.—Rochefoucauld. | |
One eonld take down a book from a shelf | |
ten times more wise and witty than almost any | |
man’s conversation. Bacon is wiser, Swift | |
more humorous, than any person one is likely | |
to meet with; but they cannot chime in with | |
the exact frame of thought in which we happen | |
to take them down from our shelves. Therein | |
lies the Inxury of conversation; and when a | |
living speaker does not yield'us that luxury, he | |
becomes only a book on two legs.— Campbell. | |
Not only to say the right thing in the right | |
place, but, far more difficult still, to leave nn- | |
said the wrong thing at the tempting moment.— | |
i G. A. Sala. | |
The progress of a private conversation he- | |
twixt two persons of different sexes is often | |
decisive of their fate, and gives it a turn very | |
distinct perhaps from what they themselves an- | |
ticipated. Gallantry becomes mingled with | |
conversation, and affection and passion come | |
gradually to mix with gallantry. Nobles, as | |
well as shepherd swains, will, in such a ying | |
moment, say more than they intended; an | |
queens, like village maidens, will listen longer | |
than they should.— Walter Scott. | |
It is a secret known but to a few, yet of no | |
small use in the condnet of life, that when you | |
fall into a man’s conversation, the first thing you | |
should consider is whether he has a_ greater in- | |
clination to hear you, or that you shonld hear | |
him.—Steele. | |
There is a sort of knowledge beyond the | |
power of learning to bestow, and this is to be | |
had in conversation ; so necessary is this to the | |
understanding the characters of men, that none | |
are more ignorant of them than those learned | |
pedants whose lives have been entirely con- | |
sumed in colleges and among books; for how- | |
ever exquisitely human nature may have been | |
described by writers the true practical system | |
can be learned only in the world. —Fielding. | |
--- Chunk 2, Page 15 --- | |
CONVERSATION. | |
97 | |
CONVERSATION, | |
In table talk I prefer the pleasant and witty | |
before the learned and grave.—Vontaryue. | |
The first mgredient in conversation is trnth, | |
the next good sense, the third-good hnmor, and | |
the fourth wit.—Sir WW. Temple. | |
He that qnestioncth much shall learn much, | |
and content much; but especially if he apply | |
his qnestions to the skill of the persons w rom | | |
he asketh ; for he shall give them occasion to | |
please themselves in speaking, ‘and himself shall | |
continually gather knowledge ; but let his ques- | |
tions'not be troublesome, for that is fit for a | |
poser; and Jet him be sure to leave other men | |
their turn to speak; nay, if there be any that | |
wonld reign ‘and take up all the time, let him | |
find means to take them off, and bring others | |
on,—as musicians used to do with those that | |
dance too long galliards. If you dissemble | |
sometimes your knowledge of that yon are | |
thonght to know, you shall he thought, another | |
time, to know that you know not.— Bacon. | |
Reasonable men are the best dictionaries of | |
conversation.— Goethe. | |
The seeret of pleasing in conversation is not | |
to explain too much everything; to say them | |
half and leave a little for divination is a mark | |
of the good opinion we have of others, and | |
nothing flatters their self-love more.— | |
Rochefoucauld. | |
Those who speak'always and those who never | |
speak are equally unfit for friendship. A good | |
proportion of the talent of listening and speak- | |
ing is the base of social virtues.— Lavater. | |
The secret of tiring is to say everything that | |
can be said on the subject.— Voltaire. | |
One of the first observations to make in | |
conversation is the state, or the character, and | |
the education of the person to whom we speak. | |
Madame Necker. | |
If conversation be an art, like painting, | |
senlptnre, and literature, it owes its.most pow- | |
erful charm to nature 3, and the least shade of | |
formality or -artifice destroys the cilect of the | |
best collection ot words.— Tuckerman. | |
There is no-arena in which vanity displays | |
itself under such 2 variety of forms as in con- | |
versation.— Pascal. | |
Conversation opens onr views,and gives our | |
faculties. more vigorous play ; it puts us upon | |
turning our notions on every side, and holds | |
thein up toa light that discovers those latent | |
flaws which wonld probably have lain. concealed | |
ia the gloom of unagitated abstraction.— | |
7 Melmoth. | |
. In the sallies of badinage a polite fool shines ; | |
but in gravity he is as awkward as an elephant | |
disporting.—Ziumermann. | |
7 | |
The extreme pleasure we take in talking of | |
ourselves shonld make us fear that we pive very | |
little to those who listen to ns.—Aochefoucauld., | |
When we are in the company of sensible | |
men, we ought to be doubly cuntions of talking | |
too much, lest we lose two good things, — their | |
good opinion, and ovr own improvement; for | |
what we have to say we know, but what they | |
have to say we know not.— Colton. | |
Silence is one great art of conversation.— | |
Llazlitt, | |
Our compamons please us less from the | |
eharms we find in thetr conversation than from | |
those they find in ours.—Lord Greville. | |
Conversation enriches the understanding, | |
but solitude is the school of genius.— Gibbon. | |
In conversation, humor is more than wit, | |
casiness more than knowledge; few desire ta | |
learn, or think they need it; all desire to he | |
pleased, or, at least, to be casy.— | |
Sir W. Temple. | |
Conversation is an art in which a man has | |
all mankind for competitors.— Zmerson. | |
One of the best rules in conversation is, | |
never say a thing which any of the company | |
ean reasonably wish we had rather left nnsaid. | |
Let the sage reflections of these philosophic | |
minds be cherished.— Swift. | |
The less men think, the more they talk.— | |
Montesquieu. | |
The perfection of conversation is not to play | |
a regular sonata, but, like the olian_harp, to | |
await the inspiration of the passing breeze.— | |
Burke. | |
Conversation never sits easier npon us than | |
when we now and then discharge onrselves in a | |
symphony of laughter, whick may not improp- | |
erly be called the chorus of conversation. | |
~ Steele. | |
The tone of good conversation is brilliant | |
and natural; it is neither tedious nor frivolous ; | |
it is instruetive without pedantry, gay withont | |
tumultnousness, polished “without affectation, | |
gallant without insipidity, waggish without | |
equivocation.—RRousseau. | |
All men, well interrogated, answer well.— | |
Plato. | |
Topics of conversation among the multitnde | |
are generally persons, sometimes things, searce- | |
ly ever principles.— IV. B. Clulow. | |
Never hold any one by the button or the | |
hand in order to be heard out; for if people | |
are unwilling to hear you, yon had better hold | |
your tongue than them.— Chesterfield. | |
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CONVERSION. | |
98 | |
COQUETRY. | |
Those persons who never speak till they ean COQUETRY. | |
make a hit are insufferable. | |
to fill up the embroidery of which they will only | |
do the flowers—J/adame Necker. | |
I would establish but one general rule to be | |
observed in all conversation, which is this, that | |
men should not talk to please themselves, but | |
those that hear them.—Steele. | |
Repose is as neeessary in conversation as in | |
a pictnre.—ZZazlitt, | |
A conversation ought no more to be like a | |
written discourse, than the latter like a conver- | |
sation. What is pretty singular is, those who | |
fall into the former blemish seldom escape the | |
other; because, being in the habit of speaking | |
as they would write, they imagine they ought | |
to write as they speak. It should be a rule | |
that a man cannot be too much on his guard | |
when he writes to the public, and never too easy | |
towards those with whom he converses.— | |
DD’ Alembert. | |
It is when you come close to a man in con- | |
versation that you discover what his real abili- | |
tics are. To make a speceh in ‘a-publie assem- | |
biy is a knack.—Johnson. | |
Conversation is a traffie; and if you enter | |
into it without some stock of knowledge to bal- | |
ance the aeconnt perpetually betwixt you, the | |
trade drops at once.—Sterne. | |
Take, rather than give, the tone of the com- | |
pany you arein. If yon have parts, you will | |
show them more or less upon every subjcet; | |
and if you have not, you had better talk sillily | |
upon a subject of other people’s than of your | |
own choosing.— Chesterfield. | |
CONVERSION. | |
As to the value of conversions, God alone | |
can judge. God alone can know how wide | |
are the steps which the soul has to take be- | |
fore it ean approach to‘a community with him, | |
to the dwelling of the pertect, or to the in- | |
tercourse and friendship of higher natures.— | |
Goethe. | |
In what way, or hy what manner of working | |
God changes a soul from evil to good, how he | |
impregnates the barren rock, — the priceless | |
gems and gold,—is to the human mind an | |
impenetrable mystery, in all cases alike.— | |
Coleridge. | |
Thaye known men who thonght the object of | |
conversion was to eleanse them as a garment is | |
cleansed, and that when they are converted | |
they were to be hung up in the Lord’s ward- | |
robe, the door of which was to be shut, so | |
that no dust could get at them. A coat that | |
is not used the moths eat; and a Christian who | |
is hung up so that he shal] not be tempted, the | |
moths eat him; and they have poor food at | |
that.— Beecher. | |
They oblige you? | |
The adoration of his heart had been to her | |
only as the perfume of-a wild flower which she | |
had carelessly crushed with her foot in passing. | |
Longfellow. | |
To boast that we never coquet is itself a | |
sort of eoquetry.—Rochefoucauld. : | |
Heartlessness and fascination, in about | |
equal quantities, constitute the receipt for form- | |
ing the character of a court coquette.— | |
Madame Deluzy. | |
| An accomplished eoquette excites the pas- | |
, sions of others in proportion as she feels none | |
herself.— Hazlitt, | |
‘The characteristic of-a coquette is affectation | |
governed by whim; for as beauty, wit, good- | |
, Nature, politencss, and health are sometimes | |
j-affected by this ereature, so are ugliness, folly, | |
nonsense, ill-natnye, ill-breeding, and_ sickness | |
‘Tikewise put on by it in their tit, Its life is | |
one constant lie; and the only rule by which | |
you can form any jndgment of them is that | |
they are never what they seem.—Fieding. | |
All women seem by nature to be coquettes, | |
though all do not practise eoqnetry. Some are | |
restrained by reason, some by fear; none are | |
aware of the extent of their coquetry.— | |
Rochefoucauld. | |
There are many women who have never in- | |
trigued, and many men who have never gamed ; | |
but those who have done either but once are | |
very extraordinary animals,‘and more worthy | |
of a glass case when they die than alf the ex- | |
otics in the British Musenm.— Colton. | |
There is one antidote only for eoquetry, | |
and that is true love—Aadame Deluzy. | |
A coquette is one that is never to be per- | |
suaded out of the passion she has to please, nor | |
out of a good opinion of her own beauty ; time | |
and years she regards as things that only | |
wrinkle and decay other women ; forgets that | |
age is written in the face, and that the same | |
dressy which became her when she was young | |
now only:makes her look the older. Affecta- | |
tion cleaves to her even in sickness and pain; | |
she dies in a high-head and colored ribbons.— | |
Bruyére. | |
The ecoquette who saerifices the ease and | |
reputation of as many‘as she is able to an ill- | |
natured vanity, is a more pernicious creature | |
than the wreteh whom fondness betrays to | |
make her lover happy, at the expense of her | |
own reputation. —F velding. | |
A coquette is a young lady of more beanty | |
than sense, more accomplishments than learn- | |
ing, more charms of person than graces of | |
mind, more admirers than friends, more fools | |
than wise men for attendants.—Longfellow. | |
--- Chunk 2, Page 17 --- | |
CORRUPTION. | |
99 | |
COURAGE. | |
Women find it far more difficuit ta overcome | |
their inclination to coquetry than te evercome | |
their love.—Jtorhefoucauld. | |
cokruprion. | |
O that estates, degrees, and offices were not | |
derived corruptly ! and that clear honor were | |
purehased by the merit of the wearer ! — | |
Shakespeare. | |
Examine well his milk-white hand, the palm | |
is_hardly clean, — but here ‘and there an ugly | |
smutch -appears. Foh! Teowas a bribe that | |
left it. He has tonehed corrnption.— Cowper. | |
My bnsiness in the state made me a looker- | |
ov here in’ Vienna, where IT have seen corrup- | |
tion boil and bubble till it o’errun the stew.— | |
Shakespeare. | |
Corruption is a tree whose branches are of | |
an unmeasnrable length; they spread every- | |
where; and the dew that drops from thence | |
hath infected some ehairs and stools of author- | |
ity. —Beaumont and Fletcher. | |
Loathsome canker lives in sweetest bud.— | |
Shakespeare. | |
COUNTRY. | |
Seldom shall we sec in cities, courts, and | |
rich families, where men live pleutifally and eat | |
and drink freely, that perfect health, that ath- | |
letic soundness and vigor of constitution which | |
is commonly seen in the country, in poor honses | |
and cottages, where nature is" their cook, and | |
necessity their caterer,"and where they have no | |
other doctor but the snn and fresh air, and that | |
such a one as never sends them to the apoth- | |
ecary.—South. | |
One gets sensitive about losing mornings | |
after getting: a little used to them with living in | |
the country. Exch one of these endlessly varied | |
daybreaks is an opera but once perfor mene — | |
Villis. | |
Nor rnrai sights alone, but rural sonnds, ex- | |
hilarate the spirit and restore the tone of ‘lan- | |
guid nature. — Couper. . | |
There is virtne in country houses, in ‘gar- | |
dens and orchards, in fields, streams, and groves, | |
in rustic reereations and plain manners, that | |
neither cities nor universities: enjoy. —Aleoit. | |
Sir, when -you have seen one green field, | |
you have seen all green fields. Let us walk | |
down Cheapside.—Johnson. | |
‘Ask any school-boy up to the age of fifteen | |
where he wontd spend his holidays s. Not one | |
in five hundred will say, “In the streets of | |
London,” if you give him the option of green | |
fields and running waters. It is, then, a fair | |
presumption that “there must be something of | |
the child still in the character of the men or r the | |
women whom the country charms in maturer | |
as in dawning life.—Bulwer Lytton. | |
Men are taught virtue and a love of inde- | |
pendence by living in the country.—enander. | |
The city reveals the moral ends of being, | |
dnd sets the aw fal problem of life. The coun- | |
try soothes ns, refreshes us, lifts us up with | |
religious snggestion. — Chapin. | |
If country life be healthful to the lody, it is | |
no less so to the mind. —Auffini. | |
Sunny spots of greenery.— Coleridye. | |
In those vernal seasons of the year, when | |
the air is calm and pleasant, it were an injury | |
and silenness against nature not to go ont and | |
see her riches, and partake in her rejuicing with | |
heaven and carth,—idilton, | |
I consider it the best part of an education to | |
have been born and brought up in the country. | |
Alcott. | |
COURAGE. - | |
Trne courage is the result of reasoning. A | |
Resolution | |
brave mind is always j impregnable. | |
lies more in the head than in’ the veins, and a | |
just sense of honor-and of infamy, of duty-and | |
of religion, will carry us farther than all the | |
force of mechanism.—Jeremy Collier. | |
God is the brave man’s hope and not the | |
coward’s excuse.— Plutarch. | |
Let him not imagine who aims at greatness | |
that all is lost by a single adverse cast of for- | |
tune; for if fortune has at one time the better | |
of conrage, courage may afterwards recover the | |
advantage. He who is prepossessed with the | |
aranee of overcoming'at least overcomes the | |
fear of failure; whereas he who is apprehensive | |
of losing loses, in reality, all hopes of subdning. | |
Boldness and power are such inseparable com- | |
panions that they appear to be born together ; | |
and when once divided, they both decay and dic | |
at the same time. —Arehbishop Venn. | |
If we survive danger, it stecls our conrage | |
more than anything else, —Niebuhr. | |
Physical conrage, which despises all danger, | |
will make a man brave i in one way ; and moral | |
courage, which despises all opinion, will make a | |
man brave in another. The former would seem | |
most necessary for the camp, the-latter for conn- | |
cil; but 10 constitute a great man, both aré | |
necessary ! —Colton. | |
Much danger makes great hearts most res- | |
olnte.—Afarston. —~ | |
Women and men of retiring timidity are | |
cowardly only in dangers which affect them- | |
selves, but the first to resene when others nee | |
endangered.—Ziehter. * | |
It is not onr criminal actions that require | |
conrage to confess, but those-which are ridicn- | |
lous and foolish.—Zousseau. | |
--- Chunk 2, Page 18 --- | |
COWRAGE. | |
100 | |
COURTESY. | |
Courage without discipline is nearer beast- | |
liness than manhood.—Sir P. Sidney. | |
An intrepid conrage is at best but a holiday | |
kind of virtue, to be seldom exercised, and | |
never but in cases of necessity; affability, mild- | |
ness, tenderness, and a word which I would fain | |
bring back to its original signification of virtue, | |
I mean good-nature, are of daily usc; they are | |
the bread of mankind and staff of life. —Dryden. | |
Courage consists not in blindly overlooking | |
danger, but in seeing it and conquering it— | |
Richter. | |
Truc conrage is cool and calm. The bravest | |
of men have the least of a brutal bullying inso- | |
lence ; and in the very time of danger are found | |
the inost serene and free. Rage, we kuow, can | |
make a coward forget himself and fight. But | |
what is done in fury or anger can never be | |
placed to the account of courage.—Shaflesbury. | |
t . | |
Who hath not courage to revenge will never | |
find generosity to forgive—Henry Home. | |
The truest conrage is-always mixcd with | |
cireumspection ; this being the quality ‘which | |
distinguishes the courage of the wise from the | |
hardiness of the rash and foolish. | |
Jones of Nayland. | |
The first mark of valor is defence — | |
Sir P. Sidney. | |
Courage is like the diamond, — very bril- | |
liant; not changed by fire, capable of high | |
polish, but except for the purpose of cutting | |
hard bodies, useless.— Colton. | |
Let us not despair too soon, my friend. | |
Men’s words are ever bolder than their deeds, | |
and many,a;one who now appears resolute to | |
Meet every extremity with eager zeal, will on a | |
sudden find in their breast a heart which h | |
Wot not of —Schiller. . | |
Conrage enlarges, cowardice diminishes re- | |
sources. In desperate straits the fears of the | |
timid aggravate the dangers that imperil the | |
brave. For cowards the road of desertion | |
should he left open. They will carry over to | |
the enemy nothing but their fears. The pol- | |
troon, like the seabbard, is an encumbrance | |
when once the sword is drawn.—Bovee. | |
Before putting yourself in peril, it is neces- | |
sary to foresee and fear it; but when one is | |
there, nothing remains but to despise it.— | |
Fenelon. | |
Courage, so far as it is a sign of race, is pe- | |
culiarly the mark of a gentleman or a lady; | |
but it becomes vulgar if rude or insensitive, | |
while timidity is not vulgar, if it be a character- | |
istic of race or fineness of make. A fawn is | |
A brave man thinks no one his superior | |
who does him an injury ; for he has it then in | |
his power to make himself superior to the other | |
by forgiving it.—Pope. | |
There is no courage but in innoeence; no | |
constancy but in an honest cause.—Southern. | |
Courage is always greatest when blended | |
with meekness; intellectual ability is most ad- | |
mirable when it sparkles in the setting of a | |
modest self-distrust ; and never does the human | |
soul appear so strong as when it foregoes revenge | |
and dares to forgive-an injury.— Chapin. | |
There is no impossibility to him who stands | |
prepared to conquer every hazard; the fearful | |
are the failing. —Ars. S. J. Hale. | |
Courage ought to be guided by skill, and | |
skill armed by conrage. Neither should hardi- | |
ness darken wit, nor wit cool hardiness. Be | |
valiant as men despising death, bnt confident as | |
unwonted to be overcome.—Sir P. Sidney. | |
Conrage consists not in hazarding without | |
fear, but being resolutely minded ina just | |
cause.—Plutarch. | |
Courage is poorly housed that dwells in | |
numbers ; thé lion never counts the herd that | |
are about him, nor weighs how many flocks he | |
has to seatter.—Aaron Hill. | |
Courage makes a man more than himself; for | |
he is then himself plus his valor.— IV. R. Alger. | |
' — i | |
By how mnch unexpected, by so much we | |
must awake endeavor for defence; for courage | |
mounteth with occasion — Shakespeare. | |
Courage and modesty are the most unequiv- | |
ocal of virtues, for they are of‘a> kind that hy- | |
pocrisy cannot imitate; they too have this | |
quality in common, that they are expressed by | |
the same color.— Goethe. | |
Courage is adversity’s lamp. Vauvenargues. | |
c=) y | |
Remember now, when yon meet your antag- | |
onist, do everything in a mild, agreeable man- | |
ner.” Let your courage be as keen, but, at the | |
same time, as polished, as your sword.— | |
Sheridan. | |
I dare do all that may hecome a man; who | |
dares do more is none.—Shakespeare. | |
The brave man is not he who feels no fear, | |
for that were stupid and irrational; but he | |
whose noble soul its fear snbdues, and bravely | |
dares the danger nature shrinks from.— | |
Joanna Baillie. | |
COURTESY. | |
When we are saluted with a salutation, sa- | |
lute the person with a better salutation, or at | |
not vnigar in being timid, nor a crocodile‘ least return the same, for God taketh an ac- | |
“gentle” because courageous.— Ruskin. | |
count of all things.—Aoran. | |
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COURTESY. | |
101 | |
COURTSIIP. | |
Nothing costs less nor is cheaper than com- | |
pliments of civility. — Cervantes. | |
‘When Zachariih Fox, the great merchant | |
of Liverpool, was asked by what means he con- | |
trived to realize so large a fortune as he pos- | |
sessed, liis reply was: “ Friend, by one article | |
alone,'and. in which thon mayest dea! too, if | |
thou pleasest, — it is civility.”’— Bentley. | |
What fairer cloak than courtesy for frand 7 — | |
Larl of Surling. | |
Hail} ye small sweet courtesies of life, for | |
smooth do ye make the road of it, like grace | |
and beauty, which beget inctinations to love ‘at | |
first sight; itis ye who open the door and let | |
the stranger in.—Sterne. | |
There is a courtesy of the heart; it is allied | |
to love. From it ‘springs the purest courtesy | |
in the outward behavior.— Goethe. | |
The small courtesies sweeten life; the great- | |
er ennoble it.—Bovee. | |
Courtesy which oft is sooner found in lowly | |
sheds, with smoky rafters; than in tapestry halls | |
and courts of princes, where it first was named. | |
ALilton. | |
O dissembling courtesy ! how fine this tyrant | |
can tiekle where she wounds ! —Shakespeare. | |
As the sword of the best-tempered metal is | |
most flexible, so the truly generons are most | |
pliant and courtcous in their behavior to their | |
inferiors.—J°uller. | |
Approved valor is made precious by natural | |
courtesy. —Sir P. Sidney. | |
We must be as conrtcous to a2 man as we are | |
toa picture, which we are willing to give the | |
advantage of a good light.—Zmerson. | |
Courtesy is a science of the highest impor- | |
tance. It is, like grace and beauty in the body, | |
which charm at first sight, and tead on to fur- | |
ther intimacy and friendship, opening a door | |
that we may derive instrnetion from the exam- | |
ple of others, and at the saihe time enabling us | |
to benefit them by our example, if there be‘any- | |
thing in our character worthy of imitation. — | |
Montaigne. | |
There is no outward sign of courtesy that | |
does not rest on a deep moral foundation.— | |
Goethe. | |
It isa kind of good deed to say well; and | |
yet words are no deeds.— Shakespeare. | |
Comely courtesy that unto every person | |
knew her part.— Spenser. | |
A churlish courtesy rarcly comes but either | |
for gain or falsechood.—Sir #. Sidney | |
Whilst thon livest, keep a good tongue in | |
thy head.— Shakespeare. | |
Nothing is a courtesy unless it be meant us, | |
and that friendly and lovingly. We owe no | |
thanks to rivers that they carry our boats, or | |
winds that they be favoring and fill our sails, | |
or meats that they he nourishing ; for these are | |
what they are necessarily, Horses carry us, | |
trees shade us; but they knowiit not.— | |
. Ben Jonson. | |
Civility is a desire to receive civility, and to | |
be accounted’ well-bred.—Rechefoucauld. | |
Tf ever I shonld affect injustice, it would be | |
in this, that I might do courtesics and reccive | |
none.—J*eltham. | |
The whole of heraldry and of chivalry is in | |
courtesy. A man of fine manners shall pro- | |
nounce your name with all the ornament that | |
titles of nobility could ever add.—£merson. | |
When my friends are blind of one cye, I look | |
at them in profile.—Joubert. | |
Great talents, such as honor, virtue, learn- | |
ing, and parts, are above.the generality of the | |
world, who’ neither” possess them themselves, | |
nor judge of them rightly in others; but all | |
people are judges of the lesser talents, such as | |
civility, affability, and an obliging, agrecable | |
address and manner, becanse they feel the | |
good effects of them, as making society easy | |
and pleasing.— Chesterfield. | |
A good word is an easy obligation ; but not | |
to speak ill requires only our ‘silence, which | |
costs us nothing.-—Tillotson, | |
COURTIER. | |
The chief requisites for a courtier are a | |
flexible conscience and-an inflexible politeness. | |
Lady Blessington. | |
7 | |
Poor wretches that depend on_greatness’s | |
favor dream as I have done; wake and find | |
nothing.—Shakespeare. | |
The court does not render a man contented, | |
but it prevents his being so clsewhere.— Bruyére. | |
A courtier’s dependant is a beggar’s dog.— | |
Shenstone. | |
Not a courtier, althongh they wear their | |
faees to the bent of the king’s looks, "hath -a | |
heart that is not-glad at the thing they scowl at. | |
Shakespeare. | |
A court is-an assemblage of noble and dis- | |
tinguished beggars.—TZalleyrand. | |
COURTSHIP. | |
Courtship consists in a number of quict at- | |
tentions, uot so pointed as to alarm, nor so | |
vague as not to be understood.—Sterne. | |
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COURTSHIP. | |
102 | |
COVETOUSNESS. | |
With women worth the being won the soft- | |
est lover ever best sueceeds.—Auron Hill. | |
If you cannot inspire a woman with love of | |
you, fill her above the brim with love of herself; | |
all that runs over will be yours.—Colton. | |
She half consents who silently denies. —Ovid. | |
He that can keep handsomely within rules, | |
and support the carriage of a companion to his | |
mistress, is much more likely to prevail than | |
he who lets her see the whole relish of his life | |
depends upon her. If possible, therefore, divert | |
your mistress rather than sigh for her.—Steede. | |
She is a woman, therefore may be wooed ; | |
she is a woman, therefore may be won.— | |
Shakespeare. | |
Men dream in conrtship, but in wedlock | |
wake ! — Pope. | |
I knelt, and with the fervor of a lip uunsed | |
to the cool breath of reason, told my love.— | |
Willis. | |
The pleasantest part of a man’s life is gen- | |
erally that which passes in courtship, provided | |
his passion be sincere, and the party beloved | |
kind swith diserction. Love, destre, hope, all | |
the pleasing emotions of the soul, rise in the | |
pursuit.— Addison. | |
Men are April when they woo, December | |
when they wed.— Shakespeure. | |
A town, before it can be phindered and de- | |
serted, must first be taken ; and in this particu- | |
Jar Venus has borrowed -a Jaw from her con- | |
sort Mars. A woman that wishes to retain her | |
snitor must keep him in the trenches ; for this | |
is a siege which the besieger never raises for | |
want of supplies, since a feast is more fatal to | |
Jove than a fast, and a surfeit than a starvation. | |
Inanition may cause it to die a slow death, but | |
repletion always destroys it by a sudden one.— | |
Colton. | |
I profess not to know how women’s hearts | |
‘are wooed and won. To me they have always | |
been matters of riddle and admiration. — | |
Washinyton Irving. | |
She most attracts who longest can refiise— | |
Aaron Hill. | |
That man that has a tongne, I say, is no | |
man if with his tongue he cannot win a woman. | |
Shakespeare. | |
Courtship is a fine bowling-green turf, all | |
galloping round and swecthearting, a sunshine | |
holiday in snmmer time; but when once | |
through matrimony’s tnrnpike, the weather be- | |
comes wintry, and some husbands are seized | |
with a cold, aguish fit, to which the faculty give | |
the name of indifference.—G. A. Stevens. | |
See how the skilful lover spreads his toils— | |
Sullingfleet. | |
Let a woman once give you a task, and you | |
‘are hers, heart and soni; all your care and | |
trouble Jend new charms to her for whose sake | |
they are taken. To resenc, to revenge, to in- | |
strict, or protect a woman is all the same as to | |
love her.— Richter. | |
COVETOUSNESS. | |
Some imen are so covetous, ag if they were | |
to live forever ; and others so profuse,as if they | |
were to dic the next moment.— Aristotle. | |
Covetousness, which is idolatry —Bidle. | |
Where neeessity ends, desire and enriosity | |
begin; and no sooner are we snpplied with | |
everything natnre can demand than we sit | |
down 10 contrive artificial appetites—Johnson. | |
He deservedly loses his own property who | |
covets that of another.—Pheedrus. | |
To think well of every other man’s condi- | |
tion, and to dislike onr own, is one of the mis- | |
fortimes of huinan nature. “ Pleased with each | |
other’s lot, our own we hate.”—Burton. | |
When all sins are old in us, and go upon | |
crutches, covetousness docs but then lie in her | |
cradle.— Decker. | |
A circle cannot fill a triangle, so neither can | |
the whole world, if it were to be compassed, | |
the heart,of man; a-:man may.as easily fill a | |
chest with grace.as the heart with gold. The | |
air fills not the body, neither doth money the | |
covetous mind of man.—<Spenser. | |
The soul of man is infinite in what it eovets. | |
Ben Jonson. | |
The covetons person lives as if the world | |
were made altogether for him, and not he for | |
the world ; to take in'everything, and part with | |
nothing.— South. | |
If money be not thy servant, it will be thy | |
master. The covetous man cannot so properly | |
be said to possess wealth, as that may be said to | |
possess him.—Bacon. | |
Coyetonsness swells the principal to no pur- | |
pose, and lessens the use to all purposes.— | |
Jeremy Taylor. | |
Covetous men need money least, yet they | |
most affect it; but prodigals, who need it most, | |
have the least regard for it—slexander TWitson. | |
Covetons men are fools, miserable wretches, | |
buzzards, madmen, who live by themselves, in | |
perpetual slavery, fear, suspicion, sorrow, dis- | |
content, with more of gall than honey in their | |
enjoymerts ; who are rather possessed by their | |
money than possessors of 1t,—Burton | |
--- Chunk 2, Page 21 --- | |
COVETOUSNESS. | |
103 | |
COWARDICE. | |
Covctousness, like a candle ill made, smoth- | |
The eorctous man pines in plenty, like | |
ers the splendor of a happy furtune in its own | Tantalus np to the chin in water, and yet | |
‘ grease. —L", Osborn- | |
Covetousness, like jealousy, when it has, | |
once taken root, never leaves a& man but with | |
his life.x—Zhomus Llughes. | |
It was with good reason that God com-|! | |
manded throngh Moses that the vineyard and | |
harvest were not to be gleaned to the lust grape | |
aii; but something to be left for the poor. | |
‘ovetousness is never to be satisfied; the | |
it has, the more it wants. Such insatiable | |
s injure themselves, and transform God's | |
blessings into evil.—Luther. | |
Why are we so blind? That which we im- | |
prove, we lave, that which we hoard is net for | |
ourselves.—Mudume Deazy. | |
When workmen strive to do better than | |
well, they do confound their skill in covetous- | |
ness.— Siakespeure. | |
The covetous man heaps up riches, not to | |
enjoy them, but to have them; and starves | |
himself in the midst of plenty,:and most unnat- | |
urally cheats and rebs himself of that which is | |
his own ; and makes a hard shift to be as poor | |
and miserable with a great estate as.any man | |
can be without it.— Tillotson, . | |
Those who give not till they die show that | |
they would not then if they could keep it any | |
lunger—Bishop Hull. | |
Suppose a_more complete assemblage of | |
sublanary cnjoyments, and a more perfect sys- | |
tein of earthly felicity than ever the sun beheld, | |
the mind of man would instantly devour it, and, | |
as, if it was still empty and unsatisfied, would | |
require something more.—Leighton. | |
Poor in abundance, tamished at a feast, | |
man’s grief is but his grandeur in disguise, and | |
discontent js immortality.— Young. | |
He that visits the sick in hopes of a legacy, | |
let hin be never so friendly in all other cases, | |
J look upon him in this to be‘no better than a | |
raven that watches a weak sheep only to peck | |
Ont its eyes.—Seneca. | |
Covetousness, by 2 greediness of getting | |
more, deprives itself of the true end of getting ; | |
it loses the enjoyment of what it has got.— | |
Sprat. | |
Although the beauties, riches, honors, sci- | |
ences, virtues, and perfeetions of all nen living | |
were in the present possession of one, yet some- | |
what above and beyond all this would still be | |
sought and earnestly thirsted for.—JZooker. | |
Covctonsness is a. sort of mental gluttony, | |
not confined to money, but craving honor, und | |
fecding on selfishness.—Cham/fort. | |
thirsty —Rev. 2. Adams. | |
Covetousness teaches nen to be cruel and | |
crafty, industrious and evil, full of care ul | |
| nialice ; and after all this, it is for no good to | |
itself, for it dares not spend those heaps of | |
treasure which it has snatched.—Jeremy Taylor. | |
Of covetousness we may truly say that it | |
makes both the Alpha and Omega in the devil’s | |
alphabet, and that it is the tirst viee in corrupt | |
nature which moves, and the last which di¢s.— | |
South. | |
COWARDICE. | |
Cowards falter, but danger is often overcome | |
hy those who nobly dare.—Queen Elizabeth. | |
Alt mankind is one of these two cowards, — | |
either to wish to die when he should live, or live | |
when he should die.—Sir Hobert LZoward. | |
What masks are these uniforms to hide | |
cowards | —Duke of Wellington. | |
Itis a law of nature that faint-hearted men | |
should hethe fruit of luxurious countries, for we | |
never tind that the same soil produces delicacies | |
and herocs.—ZZerodotus. | |
The craven’s fear is but selfishness, like his | |
merriment.— IWahittier. | |
My valor is certainly going! it is sneaking | |
off! I feel it oozing out, as it were, at the pals | |
of my hands.—Sheridun. | |
Plenty-and peace breed cowards ; hardness | |
ever of hardiness is mother.—Shakespeure. | |
Lie not, neither to thyself, nor man, nor | |
God. Let month and heart be one; beat and | |
speak together, and make both felt in action. | |
It is for cowards to lie.—George Herbert. | |
It is vain for the coward -to fly; death fol- | |
lows close behind; it is by defying it that the | |
brave escape.—Voltuire. | |
When the passengers gallop hy as if fear | |
made them speedy, the enr follows them with | |
an open mouth; Jet them walk by in confident | |
neglect, and the dog will not stir at all; it is 3 | |
weakness that every creature takes advantage | |
of.—J. Beaumont, | |
Cowards die many times hefore their death ; | |
the valiant taste of death but once.— | |
Shakespeare. | |
Commonly they use their feet for defence, | |
whose tongue is their weapon.— Sir P. Sidney. | |
7 | |
If cowardice were not so completely a-cow- | |
‘ard as to be unable to look steadily upon the | |
effects of courage, he would find that there is no | |
refuge so sure as dauntless vulor.—June Porter, | |
--- Chunk 2, Page 22 --- | |
COXCOMB. | |
You are the hate of whom the proverb goes, | |
whose valor plucks dead lions by the beard, — | |
Shakespeare. | |
One of the chief misfortunes of honest peo- | |
ple is that they are cowirdly.— Voltaire. | |
Mankind are dastardly when they meet | |
with opposition —Franklin. | |
Fear is the virtue of slaves: but the heart | |
that loveth is willing. —Longfellow, | |
It is the coward who fawns upon those | |
above him. tis the coward that is insolent | |
whenever he dares be so.— Junius. | |
Cowardiceis not synonymous with prudence. | |
It often happens that the better part of disere- | |
tion is valor.—Haslitt. | |
A coward ; a most devout coward ; religious | |
in it.—Shukespeare. | |
COXCOMB. | |
A ecoxeomb begins by determining that his | |
own profession is the first; and he finishes by | |
deciding that he is the first of his profession — | |
Colton. | |
A coxeomb is ugly all over with the.affecta- | |
tion of the fine gentleman.—Johuson. | |
A vulgar man is eaptious and jealous ; eager | |
and impetuous about trifles. He suspects him- | |
self to be slighted, and thinks everything that is | |
said meant at him.— Chesterfield. | |
None are so seldom found alone, and are so | |
soon tired of their own company, as those cox- | |
eombs who are on the best terms with them- | |
selves.—Colton. | |
Foppery is never cured ; it is the bad stami- | |
na of the mind, which, like those of the body, are | |
never rectified ; once a coxcomb, and always a! | |
coxeomb.— Johnson. ° | |
CREDITOR. | |
Creditors have better memories than debtors, | |
and creditors are a: superstitions sect, great ob- | |
servers of set days and times.— Franklin. | |
There is nothing in this world so fiendish as! | |
the eonduet of a mean man when he has the | |
power to revenge himself upon a noble one in | |
adversity. It takes a-man to make adevil; and | |
the fittest man for such a purpose is a snarling, | |
waspish, red-hot, fiery ereditor.—Beecher. | |
The most trifling actions that affeet a man’s | |
credit are to be regarded. The sound of your | |
hammer at five in the morning or nine at night, | |
heard by a ereditor, makes him easy six months | |
longer ; but if he sees you at a billiard-table, or | |
hears your voiee at a tavern, when you should | |
be at work, he sends for his money the next | |
day.—Frathklin. | |
\ | |
104 | |
CREDULITY. | |
The creditor whose appearance gladdens the | |
heart of-a debtor may hold his head in sun. | |
beams and his foot on storms.—Luvater. | |
Credit is like a looking-glasss, whieh, when | |
only sullied by a breath, may be wiped elear | |
agin, but if once cracked, ean never be re- | |
paired.— Walter Scott. | |
CREDULITY. | |
The only disadvantage of an honest heart is | |
eredulity.—Sir P. Sidney. | |
The more gross the frand, the more glibly | |
will it go down, and the more greedily will it | |
-be swallowed, since folly will always find faith | |
wherever impostors will tind impudence.— | |
Bovee. | |
We all know that ‘a lie needs no other | |
grounds than the invention of the liar; and to | |
take for granted as truth all that is alleged | |
against the fame of others is.a.species of eredu- | |
lity that men would blush at on any other sub- | |
ject— Jane Porter. | |
Fear, if it be not immoderate, puts a guard | |
abont us that does watch and defend us; but | |
eredulity keeps us naked, and lays us open to | |
all the sly assaults of ill-iutending men; it was a | |
virtue when man was in his innocenee; but | |
sinee his fall, it abuses those that own it— | |
Feltham. | |
In all places, and in all times, those religion- | |
ists who have believed too much have been | |
more inelined to violence and perseention than | |
those who have believed too little — Colton. | |
J eannot spare the luxury of believing that | |
‘all things beantiful are what they seem.— | |
Halleck. | |
Credulity is the common failing of inexperi- | |
enced virtue, and he who is spontaneously sus- | |
picious may be justly charged with radieal cor- | |
ruption.—/ehzson. . | |
You believe that easily whieh you hope for | |
earnestly.— Terence. | |
The general goodness which is nourished in | |
noble hearts makes every one think that | |
strength of virtue to be in another whereof | |
they find assured foundation in themselves.— | |
Sir P. Sidney. | |
Credulity is perhaps a weakness almost in- | |
separable from eminently truthful characters.— | |
Tuckerman. | |
We believe at onee in evil; we only believe | |
in good upon refiection. Is not this sad {— | |
Mudame Deluzy. | |
O credulity, thon hast as many ears as fame | |
has tongues, open to every sound of truth as | |
of falsehood.—Havard. | |
--- Chunk 2, Page 23 --- | |
CREED. | |
CRITICISM, | |
It is a enrions paradox, that precisely in | |
proportion to our own intellectual weakness iterimes 2 | |
will be our eredulity’ as to those” mysterious | |
powers assumed by others.—Colton. | |
Generous souls are still most subject to ere- | |
dulity. —Sir W. Davenant. | |
Men are most apt to believe what they least | |
understand; cud through the lust of human | |
wit obscure things are more easily credited. — | |
Pliny. | |
Superstition is certainly not the charaeteris- | |
tic of this age. Yet some men are bigoted in | |
volities who-are infidels in “religion. Ridicu- | |
lous credulity { —Junius. | |
Your noblest natures are most eredulons.— | |
: : Chapman. | |
CREED, | |
In polities, as in yeligion, it so happens that | |
we have less charity for those who believe the | |
half of our creed than for those that deny the | |
whole of it.—Colton. © . | |
He that will believe only what he can fully | |
comprehend must have a very long head or a | |
very short ereed.—Colton. : | |
CRIME. ' | |
Crimes sometimes shock us too much ; vices | |
alinost always too little —L/are. | |
There are crimes which become innocent, | |
and even glorious, throngh their splendor, | |
anumber, and excess; henee it is that public | |
theft is called address, and to seize unjustly on | |
provinces is to’ make conquests. —Rockefoucauld, | |
One crime is everything ; two nothing.— | |
Madame Deluzy. | |
Of all the adui¢ male criminals in London, | |
not two in a hundred have entered upon a | |
course of crime who have lived an honest life | |
up to the age of twenty; ‘abnost all who enter | |
upon x course of crime do so between the ages | |
of cight and sixteen. —Larl of Shaftesbury. | |
Heaven will permit no man to sceure hap- | |
piness by crime.—l/feri. | |
Small crimes always precede great crimes. | |
Whoever has ‘been able to transgress the limits | |
set by law’ may afterwards violate the most | |
sacred rights; crime, like virtue, has its degrees, | |
and never have we scen timid innocence pass | |
suddenly to extreme licentiousness.—facine. | |
Fear follows crime, and is its punishmeut.— | |
Voltaire, | |
The contagion of crime is like that of the | |
plague. Criminals collected togetlic¥ corrupt | |
each other; they are worse than ever when at | |
the termination of their punishment they re- | |
enter society. —2Vepolcon. | |
‘Those who nee themselves incapable of great | |
re ever backward to suspect others. — | |
Roche foucauld, | |
It is supposable that, in the eyes of angels, | |
a struggle down a dark lane and va. battle of | |
Leipsic differ in nothing but excess of wicked: | |
ness.— Wedlmott. | |
There is no den in the wide world to lide ‘a | |
roene. Commits crime, and the earth is made | |
of glass. Commit a crime, and it scems fa | |
coat of snow fell on the gronnd, such reveals | |
in the woods the track of every partridge and | |
fox, and squirrel and mole.—Z'merson. | |
Most people fancy themselves innocent of | |
those crimes of which they cannot he convicted. | |
Seneca. | |
The perfection of +a thing consists in its cs- | |
sence; there are perfect criminals, as there are | |
men of perfect probity —Le Locke. | |
CRISIS. | |
There is a moment of difficulty and danger | |
at whieh flattery and falschood can no longer | |
deceive, and simplicity itself can no longer be | |
misled.—Junius. | |
CRITICISM. | |
Criticism is the child ‘and handmaid of re- | |
flection. It works by censure, and censure im- | |
plies a standard.—Richard Grant White. | |
There is ta certain meddlesome spirit which, | |
in the garb ‘of Iearned research, goes prying | |
about the traces of history, casting down its | |
monuments, and marring and mutilating its | |
fairest trophies. Care should be taken to vin- | |
digate great names from such pernicious erudi- | |
tion — Washington Lreing. | |
Ten censure wrong for one who writes | |
amiss.—-Pope. | |
Neither praise nor blame is thé object of true | |
criticism. Justly to discriminate, firmly to es- | |
tablish, wisely to prescribe, and honestly to | |
award, — these‘are the true aitas and duties of | |
criticism.— Simms. - | |
Criticism is like champagne, nothing more | |
execrable if bad, nothing more excellent if good ; | |
if meagre, mnddy, vapid, and sony, both are fit | |
only to engender colic and wind; but if rich, | |
generous, and sparkling, they communicate 2 | |
genial glow to the -spirits, improve the taste, | |
and expand the heart— Colton. | |
There is scarcely 1 good eritic of hooks horn | |
in our. age, and yet every fool thinks himself | |
justified in criticising persons.— Bulwer Lytton. | |
The purity of the eritical ermine, like that | |
of the judicial, is often soiled by contact with | |
polities. — Whipple. | |
--- Chunk 2, Page 24 --- | |
CRITICISM. | |
106 | |
CRITICISM. | |
Doubtless eriticism was originally benignant, | |
pointing out the beanties of a work rather than | |
its defects. The passions of men have made it | |
malignant, as the had heart of Procrustes turned | |
the bed, the symbol of repose, into an instru- | |
ment of torture.—Lonyfellow. | |
The most noble criticism is that in which | |
the critic is not the antagonist so mnch as the | |
rival of the!author.—Disraeli. | |
It is quite cruel that a poct cannot wander | |
through his regions of enchantment without | |
having a critic forever, like the Old Man of the | |
Sea, upon his back.—ioore. | |
Get your enemies to read your works in | |
order to mend them, for your friend is 50 much | |
your second self that he will judge too like you. | |
Pope. | |
Criticism must never be sharpened into | |
anatomy. The delicate veins of fancy may be | |
traced, and the rich blood that gives bloom and | |
health to the complexion of thought be resolved | |
into its clements. Stop there. The lite of the | |
imagination, as of the body, disappears when | |
we pursuc it.— Willmott. | |
Crities are sentinels in the grand army of | |
letters, stationed at the corners of newspapers | |
and reviews, to challenge every new author.— | |
Longfellow. | |
The critic, as he is currently termed, who is | |
discerning in nothing but faults, may care little | |
to be told that this is the mark of nuiamiable | |
dispositions or of bad passions; but he might | |
not feet equally easy, were he convinced that | |
he thus gives the mot absolute proofs of igno- | |
yance and want of taste.—J/aceulloch, | |
Is it in destroying and pulling down that | |
skill is displayed ? The shallowest understand- | |
ing, the rudest hand, is more than equal to that | |
task.— Burke. | |
The malignant deity Criticism dwelt on the | |
top of a snowy mountain in Nova Zembla; | |
Momus found her extended in her den upon | |
the spoils of numberless volumes half devoured. | |
At her right hand sat Ignorance, her father and | |
husband, blind with age ; at her left, Pride, her | |
mother, dressing her up in the scraps of paper | |
berself had torn. There was Opinion, her | |
sister, light of foot, hoodwinked, and headstrong, | |
yet giddy and perpetually turning. About her | |
layed her children, Nvise and Impudence, | |
Julness..and Vanity, Positiveness, Pedantry, | |
and Tl Manners.— Swift. | |
It is a maxim with me that no man was | |
ever written out of reputation but by himself.— | |
Bentley. | |
It is ridiculons for any man to criticise on | |
the works of another who has not distinguished | |
himself by his own performances.—Addison. | |
| There are some books and characters so | |
pleasant, or rather which contain so much that | |
1s pleasant, that criticism is perplexed or silent. | |
The hounds are perpetually at fault among the | |
sweet-scented herbs and flowers that grow at | |
, the base of Etna —J. £. Boyes. | |
OF all the ecants in this canting world, | |
deliver me from the cant of criticism.— Sterne. | |
He who would reproach an anthor for ob- | |
senrity shonld lvok into his own mind to see | |
whether it is quite clear there. In the dusk the | |
plainest writing is ilegible.— Goethe. | |
One interesting feature of criticism is seen | |
in the case with which it discovers what Addi- | |
son called the specific quality of an author. In | |
Livy, it will be the manner of telling the story ; | |
in Sallust, personal identitication with the char- | |
acter; in Tacitus, the analysis of the deed into | |
its motive. If the same test be applied to paint- | |
ers, it will find the prominent faculty of Cor- | |
reggio to be manifested in harmony of effect ; | |
of Poussin, in the sentiment of his landscapes ; | |
and of Raffaelle, in the gencral comprehension | |
of his subjeet.— Wilinott. | |
Critics must excuse me if I compare them | |
to certain animals called asses, who, by gnawing | |
vines, originally tanghe the great‘advantage of | |
pruning them.—Shenstone. | |
It is necessary a writing critic should ander- | |
stand how to write. And though every writer | |
is not bound to show himself in the capacity | |
of critic, every writing critic is bound to show | |
himself capable of being a writer; for if he be | |
apparently impotent in this latter kind, he is to | |
be denicd all title or character in the other.— | |
Shajlesbury. | |
Criticism is as often a trade-as a science ; it | |
requiring more health than wit, more labor than | |
capacity, more practice than genius.—Bruyére. | |
A true critic, in the perusal of a book, is like | |
a dog ata feast, whose thoughts and stomach | |
are wholly set upon what the guests fling away, | |
and consequently is apt to snarl most when | |
there are the fewest bones.— Swift. | |
The fangs of a bear and the tusks ofa wild | |
boar do not bite worse, and make deeper | |
igashes, than a‘goosequill sometimes; no, not | |
even the badger himself, who is said to be so | |
tenacious of his bite that he will not give over | |
his hold till he feels his teeth mect, and the | |
bones crack.— Howell. | |
The eyes of critics, whether in commending | |
or carping, are both on one side, like a turbot’s, | |
Lando. | |
We rarely meet with persons that have true | |
judgment; which, to many, renders literature | |
a very tiresome knowledge. Guvod judges are | |
ag rare as good-authors.—Sé, Heremond. | |
--- Chunk 2, Page 25 --- | |
CRITICS. | |
107 | |
CRUELTY. | |
Criticism often. takes from the tree cater- | |
pillars and blossoms together—/tehter. | |
Some critics are like chimney-sweepers ; | |
they pnt out. the tire below, and frighten the* | |
swallows from their nests above 5 they-serupe a | |
long time in the chinmey, cover themselves | |
with soot, and bring nothing away but a bag | |
of cinders, and then sing from the top of the | |
house as if they had built it.—Long/ellow. | |
Tf a frleless poem could be produeed, Tam | |
satistied it would tire the critics themselves, and | |
, | |
annoy the whole reading world with the spleen, | |
Walter Scott. | |
Professional eritics are incapable of distin- | |
gushing and ‘appreciating cither diamonds in | |
the rongh state or gold iu bars. ‘They are | |
traders, and in. liternture know oily the coins | |
that are’ current. Their criticism hus seales | |
and weights, but neitdier crucible ver touch- | |
stoue,—Jonbert. | |
Tt is the heart that makes the critic, not the | |
nose.—iiux Miiller. | |
The exercise of criticism always destroys for | |
a.time our sensibility to beauty by_ leading us | |
to regard the work in relation tu certiin laws | |
of construction, ‘The eye turns from the charms | |
| of nature to fix itself upon the servile dexterity | |
It behvoves the minor critie Who hunts for | |
blemishes to be a little distrustful of his own | |
sagacity.— Junius. | |
Of all mortals a critic is the silliest; for, | |
inuring himself to exantine all things whether | |
they ure of consequence or not, meyer looks | |
upon anything but with a design of passing sen- | |
tence npon it; by which means he is never a | |
companion, but.always a censor.— Steele. | |
Te wreathed the rod of criticism with roses. | |
Disraeli. | |
The pleasure of eriticism takes from us that | |
of being deeply moved by very beautiful things | |
Bruytre. | |
A poet that fails in writing heeomes often‘a | |
morose critic. The weak and insipid white-, | |
wine makes at length excellent vinegar.—- ‘ | |
Shenstone. | |
It is easy to eriticise an-author, but it is | |
difficult to appreciate hin — Vauvencargues. | |
If men of wit-and genins would resolve never | |
to complain in their works of critics and de- | |
tractors, the next-age would not know thats | |
they ever had any.— Swift. | |
CRITICS. | |
Critics are.a kind of freebooters in the re- | |
publie of letters, who, like deer, -gonts,’ and | |
divers other graminivorous animals, gain sub- | |
sistence by gurging upon buds and leaves of the | |
youn. shrnbs of the forest, thereby robbing | |
them of their yerdure and retarding their pro- | |
gress to matuvity.— [Pashington freing. | |
ity | |
Es | |
To be a mere verbal critic is what no man | |
of xenius would be if he could; but to besa | |
critic of true taste and fecling is what 10 man | |
without genius could be if he wonld.—Colton. | |
He whose first emotion on the view of an | |
excellént production is to undervalue it will | |
never have one of his own to show,—slikin. | |
The severest critics are always those. who | |
have cither never.attempted, or who have failed | |
in original composition. —Zfazldt. | |
of art.— Alison. | |
It is not enough for a render to be unpre- | |
judiced, He should remember that a book is to | |
be studicd, as a picture is hung. Nut only | |
must a bad Hight be avoided, but-a good one | |
obtained. ‘Yhis taste supplies. It puts a his- | |
tory, a tale, or a poem in a just point of view, | |
and there examines the execution.— |Vilinott. | |
“Hold their farthing candle to the sun.— | |
Young. | |
CRUELTY. | |
The man who prates about the cruelty of | |
angling will be found invariably fo beat his | |
witt.— Christopher North. | |
The cruelty of the effeminate is more dread- | |
ful than that of the hardy—Lacater. . | |
I Would not enter on my list of friends | |
(thongh graced with polished manners and fine | |
sense, vet wanting sensibility) the man who | |
necdlessly sets foot upon a worm.—Couwper. | |
Cruelty‘and fear shake hands together.-- | |
Balzae. | |
When the crucl fall into the hands of the | |
cruel, we read their fate with horror, not with | |
pity. Sylla commanded the bones of Marius to | |
be broken, his eyes to be pulled out, his hands to | |
be cut off, and his body to be torn in pieces with | |
pincers, and Catiline was the exeentioner. “A | |
picce of crnelty,” says Seneca, “only fit for | |
Marius to suffer, Catiline to exccute, and Sylla | |
to command.”— Colton. | |
All cruelty springs from weakness.—Seneca. | |
. Cruelty is no more the eure of crimes than | |
it is the cure of sufferings. Compassion, in the | |
‘first instance, is good for both ; I have known it | |
to bring compunetion when nothing else would. | |
Landor, | |
Much more may & judge overweigh himself | |
in cruelty than in clemency.—Sir P.Sidney. | |
Let me be ernel, not unnatural; 1 will sperk | |
daggers to her, but use none; my tongue and | |
soul in this be hypocrites —Shakespenre. | |
--- Chunk 2, Page 26 --- | |
CULTIVATION. | |
Detested sport, that owes its pleasures to | |
-another’s pain.— Cowper. | |
Nothing is so pregnant as cruelty ; so multi- | |
farious, so rapid, so ever teeming a mother is | |
unknown to the animal kingdom ; each of her | |
experiments provokes another and refines upon | |
the lust; thongh always progressive, yet always | |
remote from the eud.—Lavater. | |
CULTIVATION, | |
Tt is very rare to find ground which pro- | |
duces nothing ; if it is not covered with flowers, | |
with fruit-trees and grains, i¢ produces briers | |
and pines. It is the same with man; if he is | |
not virtuons, he becomes vieious.—Bruyére. | |
Partial eultnre runs to the ornate; extreme | |
culture to simplicity —Bovee. | |
The earth flourishes, or is overrnn with | |
noxious weeds and branibles, as we apply or | |
withhold the enltivating hand. So fares it with | |
the intellectual system of man. If you are‘a | |
parent, then, consider that the good or ill dispo- | |
sitions and principles yon please to cultivate in | |
the mind of your infant may hereafter preserve | |
anation in prosperity, or hang its fate on the | |
point of the sword.—Zforace Jlann. | |
Reading makes a full man, conference a | |
ready man,and writing an exact man.—Bacon. | |
There is no reason why the brown hand of | |
labor should not bold Thomson as well as the | |
sickle. Ornamental reading shelters and even | |
strengthens the growth of what is merely use- | |
ful. A cornficld never returns a poorer crop | |
because a few wild-flowers bloom in the hedge. | |
The refinement of the poor is the triumph of | |
Christian civilization.— Willmott. | |
A well-cnitivated mind is, so to speak, made | |
up of all the minds of preceding-ages ; it is | | |
only one single mind which has been educated | |
dnring all this time.—F'ontenelle. | |
It matters little whether a man be mathe- | |
matically or philologically or artistically culti- | |
vated, so he be but cultivated.— Goethe. | |
Whatever expands the affections, or en- | |
larges the sphere of our sympathies, — what- | |
ever makes us feel onr relation to the mniverse, | |
and all that it inherits, in time and in eternity, to | |
the great and beneficent Canse of all, must un- | |
questionably refine our nature, and elevate us | |
in the scale of being.— Channing. | |
Cultivation to the mind is as necessary as | |
food is to the body.— Cicero. | |
Not that the moderns are born with more | |
wit than their predecessors, but, finding the | |
world better furnished at their coming into it, | |
they have more leisure for new thoughts, more | |
light to direct them, and more hints to work | |
upon.—Jeremy Collier. | |
108 | |
CUNNING. | |
As the soil, however rich it may be, cannot | |
be productive without culture, so the mind, | |
without cultivation, can never produce good | |
fruit.— Seneca. | |
A man’s nature runs either to herbs or | |
weeds; therefore let him seasonably water the | |
one and destroy the other.—Lady Gethin. | |
I am very sure that any man of common | |
understanding may, by culture, care, attention, | |
and labor, make himself whatever he pleases, | |
except a great poet.— Chesterfield. | |
CUNNING. | |
Cunning leads to knavery; it is but a step | |
from one to the other, and that very slippery ; | |
lying only makes the difference ; add to that cun- | |
ning,-and it is knavery.—-Bruyére. | |
This is the fruit of craft; like him that shoots | |
up high, looks for the shaft, and finds it in his | |
forehead.—ALiddleton. | |
Cunning is the art of concealing our own | |
defects, and discovering other people’s weak- | |
nesses.— Hualitt. | |
Whoever appears to bave much cunning | |
has in_ reality very little; being deficient in the | |
essential article, which is, to hide ennning.— | |
Henry IZome. | |
Cunning pays no regard to virtne, and is | |
but the Jow mimic of wisdom.—Dolinglroke. | |
The common practice of eunning is the sign | |
of .a small genius; it almost always happens | |
that those who use it to cover themselves in one | |
place lay themselves open in another.— \ | |
Rochefoucauld. | |
Cunning is none of the best nor worst quali- | |
ties; it floats between virtue and vice; there is | |
searce any exigence where it may not, and per- | |
haps ought not to be supplied by prudence.— | |
Bruyere. | |
Knowledge without justice ought to be | |
called cnnning rather than wisdom.—FPlato. | |
All my own experience of life teaches me | |
the contempt of cunning, not the fear. The | |
phrase “ profonnd ennning ” has always seemed | |
to me a contradiction in terms. I never knew | |
acunning mind which was not either shallow | |
or on some point diseased.—Jérs. Jameson. | |
We take cunning for a sinister or crooked | |
wisdom ; and certainly there is a great difference | |
between a cunning man and ‘a wise man, not | |
only in point of honesty, but in point of ability. | |
Bacon. | |
It has been a sort of maxim that the greatest | |
art is to conceal art; but I know uot how, | |
among some people we meet with, their greatest | |
cunning is to appear cunnihg.—Steele. | |
--- Chunk 2, Page 27 --- | |
CURIOSITY. | |
109 | |
CURIOSITY. | |
The most sure method of subjecting your- | |
self to be deceiver is to consider yourself more | |
eunning than others.—Jochefoucauld, | |
_. Cunning is only the mimic of discretion, and | |
may pass upon mean men in the same manner | |
as vivacity is often mistaken for wit, and gravity | |
for wisdom.—Addison. | |
Cunning is the dwarf of wisdom.— | |
W. R. Alger. | |
Cunning has only private’ selfish aims, and | |
sticks -at_ nothing which may make them sue- | |
eced, Discretion has large and extended views, | |
and, like a well-formed eye, commands a whole | |
horizon ; cunning is a kind of short-sighte«ness, | |
that diseovers the minutest objects which are | |
near at hand, but is not able to discern things | |
at a distance. —Addison. | |
In-a great business there is nothing so fatal | |
as cunning management.—/unius. | |
Those who are overreaehed by our cunning | |
are far from appearing to us as ridicnlous as | |
we appear to ourselves when the cunning of | |
others has overreached us.—Rochefoucauld. | |
Cunning to wisdom is as an‘ape to man.— | |
Villiam Penn. | |
The whole power of cunning is privative ; | |
to say nothing, and to do nothing, is the utmost | |
of its reach. Yet men, thns narrow hy nature | |
and mean by art, are sometimes able to rise by | |
the miscarriages of bravery and the openness | |
of integrity,and, watching failures and snateh- | |
ing opportunities, obtain advantages which be- | |
long to higher characters.—Johnson. | |
A cunning man_overreaches no one half as | |
mueh as himself.— Beecher. | |
Hurry and cunning are the two apprentices | |
of deSpatch and of skill; but neither of them | |
ever learn their masters’ trade.—Colton. | |
The bounds of a'man’s knowledge.are easily | |
concealed if he has but prudence.— Goldsmith. | |
The very eunn’ng conceal their cunning ; | |
the indifferently shrewd boast of it —Bovce. | |
The greatest of all cunning is to seem blind | |
to the snares which we know to be laid for us. | |
Men are never so easily deceived as while they | |
are endeavoring to deceive others.— | |
Rochefoucauld. | |
CURIOSITY, | |
Men are moré inelined to ask curious ques- | |
tions than to obtain necessary instruction. — | |
Pasquier Quesnel. | |
OF all the faculties of the human mind, eu- | |
riosity is that which is the most fruitful or the | |
most barren in effective results, according as it | |
is well or badly directed —Palnieri. | |
No heart is empty of the humor of curiosity, | |
the beggar béing as attentive in his station to | |
an improvement of knowledge as the prince.— | |
Osborn, | |
Avoid him who from mere curiosity asks | |
three questions running about a thing that ean- | |
not interest him.—Lavuler. : | |
The over-enrious are not over wise.— | |
Massinger. | |
._ Who forees himself on others is to himself | |
a.load. Impetuous curiosity is empty and in- | |
constant. Prying intrusion may be suspected | |
of whatever is little. —Laveter. | |
The first and simplest emotion which we | |
diseover in the human mind is curiosity. —Burke. | |
Curiosity is a kernel of the forbidden fruit, | |
which still sticketh in the throat of a natural | |
man, sometimes to the danger of his choking. — | |
Fuller. | |
The enriosity of an honorable mind willing- | |
ly rests there where the love of truth does not | |
urge it farther onward, and the love of its neigh- | |
bor bids it stop; in other words, it willingly | |
stops at the point where the interests of truth | |
do not beckon it onward, and charity cries Halt! | |
Coleridge. | |
«Curiosity is as much the parent of attention | |
as attention isof memory.— }Whately. | |
There are different kinds of curiosity, — one | |
of interest, which causes us to learn that which | |
would be useful to us; and the other of pride | |
which springs from a desire_to know that of | |
which others-are ignorant.—Rochefoucauld. | |
_ The euriosity of knowing things has been | |
given to man for a scourge.— Bible. | |
TT 1 | |
I loathe that low vice curiosity. —Byron. | |
There is philosophy in the remark that | |
every man has in his own life follies enough, | |
in the performance of his duty deficiencies | |
enough, in his own mind trouble enongh, | |
without being curious after the affairs of others. | |
Dibdin. | |
O this itch of the ear, that breaks out'at the | |
tongue! Were not curiosity so over-busy, de- | |
traction would soon be starved to death.— | |
Douglas Jerrold. | |
Curiosity is the direct incontinency of the | |
spirit. Knock therefore at the door before you | |
enter upon your neighbor’s privacy; and re- | |
member that there ts no difference between | |
entering into his house and looking into it— | |
Jeremy Taylor. | |
He who would pry behind the scenes oft sees | |
a counterfeit Dryden. | |
--- Chunk 2, Page 28 --- | |
CURSES. | |
110 | |
CYNICISM. | |
_ Curiosity is the most superficial of all. the | |
affections ; it changes its object perpetnally ; it | |
has an appetite which is very sharp, but very | |
easily satistied, and it has always an appearance | |
of giddiness, restlessness, and anxiety.— Burke. | |
Inquisitive people are the fnnnels of con- | |
versation; they do not take i# anything for | |
their own use, but merely to pass it to another. | |
Steele. | |
Curiosity is one of the permanent and cer- | |
tain characteristics of a vigorons intellect. | |
Every advance into knowledge opens new pros- | |
pects, and prodnces new ineitements to further | |
progress.— Johnson. | |
CURSES. | |
Let this pernicious hour stand aye accursed | |
in the ealendar ! —Shakespeure. | |
A curse is like a cloud, — it passes.—Builey. | |
We let onr blessings get mouldy, and then | |
call them curses.— Beecher. | |
_ Dinna curse him, sir; I have heard a good | |
man say that a curse was like a stone flung up | |
to the heavens,.and m like 10 return on his | |
head that sent it— Walter Scott. | |
Curses are like young chickens and still | |
come home to roost.— Bulwer Lytton. | |
CUSTOM. | |
The influence of costume is incalculable ; | |
dress a boy ‘as 2 man ani he will at once change | |
his own conception of himself—Bayle St. John. | |
Custom does often reason overrule.— | |
Rochester. | |
Custom is the great leveller. It corrects the | |
inequality of fortune by lessening equally the | |
pleasures of the prince and the pains of the | |
peasant —ZHenry Lome. | |
The way of the world is to make laws, but | |
follow customs.—ALontaiyne. | |
Choose always the way that seems the best, | |
however rongh it may be. Custom will render | |
it éasy and agreeable.—Pythagoras. | |
New customs, though they be never so ridic- | |
ulous, nay, let them be unmanly, yet are fol- | |
lowel.— Shakespeare. | |
Can there be any greater dotage in the | |
world than for one to guide and’ direct his | |
courses by the sonnd of a.bell, and not by his own | |
judgment and discretion ? —Rabelais. | |
Custom is the law of fools.—Vanbrugh | |
There are not unfrequently substantial rea- | |
sons underneath for customs that appear to us | |
absurd.— Charlotte Bronte. - | |
The custom and fashion of to-day will be | |
the awkwardness and outrage of to-morrow. So | |
arbitrary are these transient laws.—Dumas. | |
Custom is the law of one description of fools, | |
and fashion of another; but the two parties of- | |
ten clash, for precedent is the legislator of the | |
first and novelty of the last.—Colton. | |
Be not so bigoted to any custom as to wor- | |
ship it at the expense of truth.—Aimmermann. | |
Be not too rash in the breaking of an incon- | |
venient custom ; as it was gotten, so leave it by | |
degrees. Danger attends upon too sudden al- | |
terations ; he that pulls down-a bad building’ by | |
the great may be rnined by the fall, but he | |
thas takes it down brick by brick may live to | |
build_a-better.— Quarles. | |
A custom more honored in the breach than | |
the observance.— Shakespeare. | |
Men commonly think according to their in- | |
clinations, speak according to their learning | |
and imbibed opinions; but generally act ae- | |
cording to custom.—Bacon. | |
Custom, though never so ancient, without | |
truth, is but an old error.—Cyprian. | |
As the world leads we follow.—Seneca. | |
Custom is the tyranny of the lower hnman | |
faculties over the higher.—dA/adume Necker. | |
Parents fear the destruction of natural af- | |
feetion in their children. What is this natural | |
principle so liable todecay ? Habit is a second | |
nature, which destroys the first. Why is not | |
custom nature? J suspect that this-nature it- | |
self is but a first custom, us custom is-a second | |
nature.—Paseal. | |
There is no tyrant like enstom, and no free- | |
dom where its edicts are not resisted.— Bovee. | |
Custom is a violent and treacherous schoo)- | |
mistress. She, by little and little, slyly and un- | |
perceived, slips in the foot of her authority ; but | |
having by this gentle and humble beginning, | |
with the benefit of time, fixed‘and established it, | |
she then unmasks a furious and tyrannic coun- | |
tenance, against which we have no more the | |
courage or the power so much as to lift up our | |
eyes.— Montaigne. | |
Custom may lead a_man into many errors ; | |
but it justifies none:—Fielding. | |
The ancients tell us what is best; but we | |
must learn of the moderns what is fittest.— | |
Franklin. | |
CYNICISM, | |
Trnst him little who smilingly praises all | |
alike, him less who sneeringly censures all | |
alike, him least who is coldly indifferent to all | |
alike.—Lavater. | |
--- Chunk 2, Page 29 --- | |
DANCING. | |
Lil | |
DANGER. | |
The cynic is one who never sees a good | |
quality in a man, and never fails to see a | |
bad one. He is the human owl, vigilant in | |
darkness and blind to light, mousing for | |
vermin, and never seeing noble game. The | |
eynie puts all human actions into two classes, | |
openly bad and secretly bad. All virtue | |
and generosity and disinterestedness are merely | |
the appearance of good, but selfish at the bot- | |
tom. Ile holds that no man does a good thing | |
except for profit. The effeet of his conversation | |
upon yonr feclings is to chill and sear them ; to | |
send you away, sour and morose. His criti- | |
cisms and hints fall indiscriminately npon every | |
lovely thing, like frost npon flowers — Beecher. | |
Indifference to alt the actions and passions | |
of mankind was not supposed to be such a dis- | |
tinguished quality‘at that time, think. Ihave | |
known it very fashionable indeed. I have seen | |
it displayed with such suceess that I have encoun- | |
tered some fine ladies and gentlemen who might | |
as well have been born caterpillars.— Dickens. | |
Don’t hang a dismal picture on the wall, | |
and do not danb with sables and glooms in | |
your conversation. Don’t be a cynic-and dis- | |
consolate preacher. Don’t bewail and bemoan, | |
Omit the negative propositions. Nerve us with | |
incessant allirmatives. Don't waste yourself in | |
rejection, nor bark'against the bad, but chant | |
the beauty of the good. When that ts spoken | |
which has a right to be spoken, the chatter and | |
the criticism will stop. Set down nothing that | |
will not help somebody.—£ merson. | |
_ Nu admirari is the motto which men of the | |
world always affect. They think it vulgar to | |
wonder, or be enthusiastic. They have so mneh | |
corruption and so much charlatanism that they | |
think the credit of all high qualities must be | |
delusive.—Sir Egerton Brydyes. | |
There is so much trouble in coming into the | |
world, and go much more,‘as well as meanness, | |
in going out of it, that it is hardly worth while | |
to be here at all.—Lord Bolingbroke. | |
D. | |
DANCING. | |
Learn to dance, not so mneh for the sake | |
of dancing, as for- coming into a room, and | |
presenting yourself genteelly and gracefnlly. | |
Women, whom yon onght to endeavor to please, | |
cannot forgive a vulgar and awkward air and | |
gestures.— Chesterfield. | |
In swimming dance on airs soft billows | |
float.—ALilton. | |
T have suffered more from my bad dancing | |
than from all the misfortunes and miseries of | |
ty life put together.—Landor, | |
I love these rural dances, — from my heart | |
Tlove them. This world, at best, is full of care | |
and sorrow ; the life of a poor man is-so stained | |
with the sweat of his brow, there is so much | |
toil and struggling and anguish ‘and disap- | |
pointment, here below, that I gaze with delight | |
on a scene where all those are laid aside and | |
forgotten, and the heart of the toil-worn peas- | |
ant scems to throw off its load.—Zongfellow. | |
Well was it said by a man of sagacity, that | |
dancing was a sort of privileged and reputable | |
folly, and that the best way to be convinced of | |
this was to close the ears, and judge of it by | |
the eyes alone.—Goithold. | |
No amusement seems more to have a foun- | |
dation in our natire. The animation of yonth | |
overflows spontanconsly. in harmonions move- | |
ments. The true idea of dancing entitles it to | |
favor. Its end is to realize perfeet grace in | |
motion ; and who docs not know that. sense | |
of the graceful is one of the higher faculties of | |
our nature ? —Channing. | |
The cymnasinm of running, walking on | |
stilts, climbing, etc. steels and makes hardy | |
single powers and muscles; bnt dancing, like | |
a corporeal poesy, embellishes, exercises, and | |
equalizes all the muscles at once.—Richter. | |
. Dance, dance, as long as ye can;_we must | |
travel through life, but why make a dead march | |
of it? —Eliza Cook. | |
Flushed with the beautiful motion of the | |
dance.— Willis. | |
DANGER. | |
Dangers are no more light if they once | |
seem light, and more dangers have deceived | |
men than forced them; nay, it were better to | |
meet some dangers half-way, though they come | |
nothing near, than to keep too long.a watch | |
npon their approaches; for if a man watch too | |
long, it is odds he will-fall fast asleep.— Bacon. | |
That danger which is despised arrives the | |
soonest.—Laberius. “ | |
A timid person is frightened before a-danger, | |
a coward during the time, and a courageous | |
person afterwards.—Richter. | |
A man’s opinion of danger varies ‘at differ- | |
ent times, in consequence of an irregular tide of | |
animal spirits ; and he is actuated by considera- | |
tions which he dares not avow.—Smollet. | |
We should never so entirely avoid danger as | |
to appear irresolute and cowardly ; but, at the | |
same time, we should: avoid unnecessarily ex- | |
posing onrselves to danger, than which nothing | |
ean be more foolish.—Cicero. | |
--- Chunk 2, Page 30 --- | |
DAUGHTER. | |
— | |
112 | |
DEATH. | |
We triumph ‘without glory when we con-| | |
quer without danger.— Corneille. | |
Let the fear of a danger be a spur to prevent | |
it; he that fears otherwise gives advantage to | |
the danger; it is less folly not to endeavor the | |
prevention of the evil thou fearest than to fear | |
the evil which thy endeavor cannot prevent.— | |
Quarles. | |
Thon dwarf dressed up in giant’s clothes, | |
that showest far off still greater than thou art.— | |
Suckling. | |
Danger levels man_and_ brute, and all are | |
fellows in their need.— Byron. | |
DAUGHTER. | |
A danghter is an embarrassing and ticklish | |
possession. —Afenander. | |
To a father waxing old nothing is dearer | |
than a daughter; sons have spirits of higher | |
pitch, but less inclined to sweet endearing fond- | |
ness. —Luripides. | |
Still harping on my daughter.— | |
Shakespeare. | |
DEATH. | |
Deliverer! God hath anointed thee to frec | |
the oppressed, and crush the oppressor.— | |
Bryant. | |
Living is death ; dying is life. We are not | |
what we appear to be. On this side of the | |
grave we are exiles, on that citizens ; on this side | |
orphans, on that children; on this side captives, | |
on that freemen; on this side disguised, un- | |
known, on that disclosed and proclaimed as the | |
sons of God.—Beecher. - | |
If some men died and ofhers did not, death | |
would indeed be a most mortifying evil.— | |
Bruyére. | |
We hold death, poverty, and grief for our | |
principal enemies; but this death, which some | |
repute the most dreadful of all dreadful things, | |
who does not know that others call it the only | |
secure harbor from the storms and tempests of | |
life, the sovereign good of nature, the sole | |
support of liberty, and the common and sudden | |
remedy of all evils ? —Afontaigne. | |
We so converse every night with the image | |
of death that every morning we find an argu- | |
ment of the resurrection. Sleep and death have | |
but one mother, and they have one name in | |
common.—Jeremy Taylor. | |
Death shuns the naked throat and proffered | |
breast; he flies when called to be a welcome | |
guest.—Sir Charles Sedley. | |
We look at death through the cheap-glazed | |
windows of the flesh, and believe him the mon- | |
ster which the flawed and cracked glass repre- | |
sents him.—LZowell. | |
Birth into this life was the death of the em- | |
bryo life that preceded,-and the death of this | |
will be birth into some new mode of being. — | |
Rev. Dr. Hedge. | |
Friend to the wretch whom every friend for- | |
sakes, I woo thee, Death! Life and its joys I | |
leave to those that prize them. Hear me, | | |
gracious God! At thy good time let Death ap- | |
proach; I reck not, let him but come in gen- | |
uine form, not with thy vengeance armed, too | |
much for man to bear.— Bishop Porteus. | |
Death is so genuine a fact that it excludes | |
falsehoods, or betrays its emptiness; it is a | |
touchstone that proves the gold, and dishonors | |
the baser metal. —/Zawthorne. | |
I have heard that death takes us away from | |
ill things, not from good. I have heard that | |
when we pronounce the name of man we pro- | |
nounce the belief of immortality.—£mersou. | |
It is infamy to die, and not be missed.— | |
Carlos Wilcox. | |
Of all the evils of the world which are re- | |
proached with an evil character, death is the | |
most innocent of its accusation.— . | |
Jeremy Taylor. | |
All my possessions for a moment of time. | |
— Last words of —Queen Elizabeth. | |
The birds of the air die to sustain thee; the | |
beasts of the field dic to nonrish thee; the fishes | |
of the sea die to feed thee. Our stomachs are | |
their common sepulchre. Good God! with how | |
many deaths are our poor lives patched up! | |
how full of death is the life of momentary man! | |
Quarles. | |
When-a man dies they who survive"him ask | |
what property he has lett behind. The angel | |
who bends over the dying man asks what good | |
deeds he has sent before him.—Koran. | |
I have ‘often thought of death, and I find it | |
the least of all evils.—Jeremy Taylor. | |
Where all life dies, death lives.— Ailton. | |
All death in nature is birth, and at the mo- | |
ment of death appears visibly the rising of life. | |
There is no dying principle in nature, for nature | |
throughout is unniixed life, which, concealed | |
behind the old, begins again and develops itself. | |
Death as well as birth is simply in itself, in | |
order to present itself ever more brightly and | |
more like to itself—Fvehte. | |
Men must endure their going hence, even | |
as their coming hither ; ripeness is all.— | |
Shakespeare. | |
T look upon death to be as necessary to our | |
constitution as sleep. We shall rise refreshed | |
in the morning.—Franklin. | |
--- Chunk 2, Page 31 --- | |
DEATH. | |
ep a = | |
Could we but know one ina hundred of the | |
close approachings of. the skeleton, we should | |
lead -a_ Ttfe of perpetual shudder. Often -ind | |
often do his bony fingers almost elitch onr | |
throat, or his foot is put out to pive us: 2 cross | |
buttock. But a saving arm pulls him back ere | |
we have scen’so much as his shadow.— —_~ | |
oe Professor Wilson. | |
Js death the Jast sleep? No, it is the last | |
final awakening.— Walter Scott. | |
The churchyard is the market-place where | |
all things are rated at their true value, and | |
those who are approaching it talk of the world | |
and its vanities with a wisdom unknown before. | |
Bazter. | |
Death is the tyrant of the imagination. His | |
reign is in solitade and darkness, in tombs, and | |
prisons, over weak hearts"and secthing brains. | |
Tie lives, without shape or sound, a phantasm, | |
inaccessible to sight or touch, —a ghastly and | |
terrible apprehension.—Barry Cormeall. | |
It is not I who dic, when I die, but my sin | |
und miscry.—Gotthold. | |
It isan exquisite and beautifil thing in our | |
nature, that, when the heart is tonched and soft- | |
ened by some tranquil happiness or affectionate | |
feeling, the memory of the dead comes over it | |
most powerfully and irresistibly. It. would seem | |
almost as thouglY our better thonghts and sym- | |
athies were charms, in virtue of which the soul] | |
1s enabled to hold some vague and mysterions | |
intercourse with the spirits of those wham we | |
loved in life. Alas! how often and how long | |
may these paticnt angels hover around us, | |
watching for the spell which is so soon forgot- | |
ten !—Dickens. | |
Cullen whispered in his last moments: “1 | |
wish I had the power of writing or speaking, | |
for then I would describe to you how pleasant | |
a thing it is to die.’—Dr. Derby. | |
Death, remembered, should be like a mirror, | |
who tells us life is but a breath; to trust it, | |
error.— Shakespeare. | |
The good die first; and they whose hearts | |
are dry as summer dust burn to the socket.— | |
Wordsworth. | |
If one were to think continually of dcith, | |
the business of life would stand still, I-am no | |
friend to making religion appear too hard. | |
Many good people have done harm by giving | |
too severe notions to it.—JoAnson. | |
The fear of approaching death, which in | |
youth we imagine must cause inquictude co the | |
aged, is very seldom the source of much un- | |
easiness.—LHaxlitt. | |
Death hath no advantage but where it comes | |
a stranger.—Jeremy Taylor. | |
113 | |
DEATH. | |
To fear tleath is the way to live long ; to be | |
afraid of death is to be long a dying.— Quarles. | |
O Death, what art thon ? nurse of dreamless | |
slunbers freshening the fevered flesh to a wake | |
fulness eternal.— 7 ‘upper. | |
I scarcely know how it is, but the deaths of | |
children seem to me always less premature than | |
those of older persons. Not that they are in | |
fact so, but it is because they themselves have | |
little or no relation to time or maturity. — | |
Barry Cornwall. | |
Death is the ultimate boundary of human | |
matters.—ZZorace. | |
To mourn deeply for the death of another | |
loosens from myself the petty desire for, and the | |
animal ‘adherence to life. We have gained the | |
end of the philosopher, and view without shrink- | |
ing the coftin and the pall.— Bulwer Lytton. | |
‘All that nature has prescribed must be good ; | |
and as death is natural to us, it is absurdity to | |
fearit. Fear loses its purpose when we are sure | |
it cannot preserve us, and we should draw a | |
resolution to meet it from the impossibility to | |
escape it.— Steele. | |
O mighty Cesar! dost thou lic so low ? are | |
all thy conquests, glorics, triumphs, spoils, | |
shrunk to this little measure ? —Shakespeare. | |
If I were a writer of books, I would compile | |
‘a register, with the comment of the various | |
deaths of men; and it could not but be useful, | |
for who should teach men to dic would at the | |
same time teach them to live —Afontatgne. | |
Who is it that called time the avenger, yet | |
failed to see that death was the consoler? | |
What mortal afflictions are there to which death | |
docs not bring full remedy? What hurts of | |
hope and body does it not repair?“ This is-a | |
sharp medicine,” said Raleigh, speaking of the | |
axe, “but it cures all disorders.”—Siams. | |
Death is a-black camel, which kneels at tho | |
gates of al],—Abd-el-AKader. | |
To neglect at any time preparation for | |
death is to sleep ou our post at a siege ; to omit | |
it in old age is to sleep at an attack.—/ohnson. | |
Death, thou-art infinite ; it is life is little— | |
‘ . Bailey. | |
One may live as a conqueror, a king, or a! | |
magistrate; but he must die as a man — | |
Daniel Webster. | |
To how many is the death of the beloved | |
the parent of faith !—Bulwer Lytton. | |
The darkness of death is like the evening | |
twilight ; it makes all objects appear more lovely | |
to the dying —Aichter. | |
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DEATH. | |
114 | |
DEATH. ' | |
ee eee | |
Death to a good man is but passing through | |
a dark entry, out of one little dusky room of | |
his Father’s honse into another that is fair and | |
large, lightsome and glorious, and divinely en- | |
tertaining—Adam Clarke. | |
The Pope can give no bull to dispense with | |
death.—Moltére. | |
Men may live fools, but fools they cannot | |
die.— Young. | |
Death is the liberator of him whom freedom | |
cannot release, the physician of him whom med- | |
icine cannot cure, and the comforter of him | |
whom time cannot console.—Colton. | |
Tt were well to dic if there be gods, and sad | |
to live if there be none-—<Afarcus Antoninus. | |
Death is the only monastery; the tomb is | |
the only cell, and the grave that adjoins the | |
convent is the bitterest mock of its futility. — | |
Bulwer Lytton. | |
There is a sweet anguish. springing np in | |
our bosoms when a child’s face brightens under | |
the shadow of the waiting angel. “There is'an | |
autumnal fitness when age gives up the ghost ; | |
and when the saint dies there is a tearful victory. | |
. Chapin. | |
The happiest of pillows is not that which | |
love first presses; it is that which death has | |
frowned on and passed over.—Leandor. | |
Men fear death, as children fear the dark; | |
and as that natural fear in children is increased | |
by frightful tales, so is the other. Groans, con- | |
vulsions, weeping friends,‘and the like show | |
death terrible; yet there is no passion so weak | |
but conquers the fear of it, and therefore death | |
is not such a terrible enemy. Revenge tri- | |
umphs over death, love slights it, honor aspires | |
to it, dread of shame prefers it, grief flies to it, | |
and fear anticipates it— Bacon. | |
No evil is honorable: but death is honor- | |
able; therefore death is not evil.—Zeno. | |
Among the poor, the approach of dissolution | |
is usnally regarded with a quiet and natural | |
composure, which it is consolatory to contem- | |
plate, and which is as far removed from the | |
dead palsy of unbelief as it is from the delirious | |
raptires of fanaticism. Theirs is a true, un- | |
hesitating faith, and they are willing to lay | |
down the burden of a weary life, in the snre and | |
certain hope of'a blessed immortality.— Southey. | |
Death is the quiet haven of us all.— | |
Wordsworth. | |
Let death snd exile, and all other things | |
which appear terrible, be daily before your | |
eyes, bnt death chiefly; and you will never en- | |
tertain any abject thought, nor too eagerly | |
covet anything. —LEpictetus. | |
To me few things appear so beautifnl as a | |
very young child in its shroud. The little | |
innocent face looks so. sublimely simple and | |
contiding among the terrors of death. Crime- | |
less and fearless, that little mortal passed under | |
the shadow and explored the mystery of disso- | |
lution. There is death, in its sublimest and | |
purest image ; no hatred, no hypocrisy, no sus- | |
picion, no care for the morrow, ever darkened | |
that little one’s face; death has come lovingly | |
upon it; there is nothing cruel or harsh it its | |
victory —Leigh Hunt. | |
To die, I own, is a dread passage, — terrible | |
to nature, chiefly -to those who have, like ine, | |
been happy — Thomson. | |
Can we wonder that men perish dnd are | |
forgotten, when their noblest-and most enduring | |
works decay? Death comes even to monnu- | |
mental structures, and oblivion rests on the | |
most illustrious names.—Jfarcus Antoninus. | |
Death comes equally to us all, and makes us | |
all eqnal when it comes. The ashes of an oak | |
in a chimney are no epitaph of that, to tell me | |
how high or how large that was; it tells me | |
not What flocks it sheltered while it stvod, nor | |
what men it hwt when it fell. The dust of | |
great persons’ graves is speechless too; it says | |
nothing, it distinguishes nothing.—Donne. | |
Death alone of the gods: loves not gifts, nor | |
do you need to offer incense or libations; he | |
cares.not for altar nor hymn; the goddess of - | |
Persuasion alone of the gods has no power over | |
him.— Horace. | |
At the last, when we die, we have the dear | |
angels for our escort on the way. They who | |
ean grasp the whole world in their hands can | |
surely also gnard our souls, that they make that | |
last journey safely.— Luther. | |
Soon as man, expert from time, has fonnd | |
the key of life, it opes the gates of death.— | |
Young. | |
Death, whether it regards ourselves or oth- | |
ers, appears less terrible in war than at home. | |
The cries of women and children, friends in | |
anguish, 2 dark room, dim tapers, priests and | |
physicians, are what affect us the most on the | |
death-bed. Behold us already more than half | |
dead and buried.—Henry Lome. | |
Death is a friend of onrs; aud he that is | |
not ready to entertain him is not at home.— | |
Bacon, | |
Some men make a womanish complaint, | |
that it is a great misfortune to die before our | |
time. I would ask what time? Is it that of | |
Nature? But she, indeed, has lent us life,'as | |
we do a sum of money, only no certain day is | |
fixed for payment. What reason then to com- | |
plain if she demands it at pleasure, since it was | |
on this condition you received it Cicero. | |
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DEATH. | |
115 | |
DEATH. | |
Ephemera die nll at sunset, and no insect of | |
this class has ever sported in the beams ofthe | |
morning sun. Happier are ye, little human | |
ephemera! Ye played only in, the ascending | |
beams, and in the early dawn, and in the east- | |
ern light; ye drank only of the prelibations of | |
lite; hovered for a little space over a world of | |
freshness and of blossoms; and fell tasleep.in | |
innocence before yet the morning dew wis ex- | |
haled ! —Richter. | |
That we shall dic we know; it is but the | |
time, and drawing days out, that men stand | |
upon.—Shakespeare. | |
Earth has one angel less, and heaven one | |
more, since yesterday. .Already, kneeling at | |
the throne, she has received heravelcome, and is | |
resting on the bosom of her Saviour. If hnman | |
love have power to penetrate the veil, (and hath | |
it not ?) then there are yet living here a few who | |
have the blessedness of knowing that an angel | |
loves them.— /Zawthorne. | |
How could the hand that gave such charms | |
blast them again ? —.1oore. | |
It matters not at what hour of the day the | |
rightcous fall -asleep; death cannot come to | |
him untimely who is fit to die; the less of this | |
cold world, the more of heaven, — the briefer | |
life, the earlier immortality.—Z. ZZ. Jfitman, | |
Life is the jailer, death the angel sent to | |
draw the unwilling bolts and set us free.— | |
Lowell. | |
O, if the deeds of human creatures could be | |
traced to their source, how beautiful would even | |
death appear; for how much charity, mercy, | |
and purisded affection would be scen to have | |
their growth in dusty graves ! —Dickens. | |
Death ready stands to interpose his dart.— | |
Bilton. | |
_ Many persons sigh for death when it scems | |
far off, but the inclination vanishes when the | |
bout upsets, or the locomotive runs off the track, | |
or-the measles set-in —T. W. [Higginson. | |
No better armor against the darts of death | |
than to be busied in God’s service. — | |
Thomas Fuller. | |
Pale death enters with impartial step the | |
cottages of the poor and the palaces of the rich, | |
FTorace. | |
The realm of death sceins an enemy’s coun- | |
try to most men, on whose shores they are | |
loathly driven by stress of weather ; to the wise | |
man itis the. desired ‘port where ie moors his | |
bark-gladly, as in some quiet haven of the For- | |
tunate Isles; it is the golden west into which | |
his sun sinks, and, sinking, casts back a glory | |
upon .the leaden cloud-tack which had darkly | |
besieged his day.—Lowell. | |
Death reigns in all the portions of our time. | |
The antumn with its frnits provides disorders | |
for us, and the winter’s cold turns them into | |
sharp diseases, and the spring brings flowers to | |
strew onr hearse, and the summer gives green | |
turf and brambles to bind upon onr graves. | |
Calentures and surfeit, cold and :agues, are the | |
"four quarters of the year, and all minister to | |
death; and you can go no whither bnt vou | |
tread upon a dead man’s bones.—Bishop Taylor. | |
Death and the sun are not to be looked a | |
steadily.—LRtochefoucauld. - | |
Against specious appearances we must set | |
clear couvictions, bright and ready for use. | |
When death appears as an evil, we ought im- | |
mediately to remember that evils are things to | |
be avoided, but death is inevitable. —Lpictetus, | |
Death gives-us sleep, eternal youth, and im- | |
mortality.— Richter. ~ | |
The more we sink into the infirmities of age, | |
the nearer we are to immortal youth. All peo- | |
ple‘are young in the other world. That state | |
is an eternal spring, ever fresh and flourishing. | |
Now, to pass from midnight into noon on the | |
sudden, to be decrepit one minute and all | |
spirit and activity the next, must be a desirable | |
change. To call this dying is an abuse of lan- | |
guage.—Jeremy Collier. | |
Ah! surely nothing dics but something | |
mourns.— Byron. | |
When death strikes down the innocent and | |
young, for every fragile form from which he Iets | |
the panting spirit free, a hundred virtues rise, in | |
shapes of mercy, charity, and love, to walk the | |
world and bless it. Of every tear that sorrow- | |
ing mortals shed on such green graves, some | |
good is born, some gentler nature comes.— | |
Dickens. | |
Death is a commingling of eternity with | |
time; in the death of a good nan eternity is | |
seen looking through time.— Goethe. | |
Death is a mighty mediator. There all the | |
flames of rage are extinguished, hatred is ‘ap- | |
peased, and angelic pity, like a weeping sister, | |
bends with gentle and close embrace over the | |
funeral urn.—Schiller. | |
If life be a pleasure, yet, since death also is | |
sent by the hand of the same Master, neither | |
should that displease us.—Afichael Angelo. | |
There are flowers which only yield their | |
fragrance to the night; there are faces whose | |
‘beanty only fully opens out in death. ‘No more | |
wrinkles.; no drawn,. distorted lineaments ; an | |
expression of ‘cxtreme humility, blended with | |
gladness of hope; a serene brightness, and an | |
jideal straightening of the ontline, as if the Di- | |
vine finger, source of supreme beauty, had been | |
Jaid there—Jfadame de Gasparin. | |
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DEATH. | |
116 | |
DEATH. | |
If thon expect death«as a friend, prepare to | |
entertain him; if thou expect death as an ene- | |
my, prepare to overcome him; death has no | |
advantage but when he comes a stranger.— | |
Quarles. | |
The last enemy that shall be destroyed is | |
death.—Bible. | |
Death did not first strike Adam, the first | |
sinfnl man, nor Cain, the first hypocrite, but, | |
Abel, the innocent and righteous. The first’ | |
son] that met with death, overcame death; the | |
first soul that parted from earth went to heaven, | |
Death argues not displeasure, because he whom | |
God loved best dies first, and the murderer is | |
punished with living. —Bishop Hall. | |
It is impossible that anything so natural, so | |
necessary, and so universal as death should ever | |
have been designed by Providence as an evil to | |
mankind.—Suv/t. | |
He that always waits upon God is ready | |
whensoever he calls. Neglect not to sect your | |
accounts even; he is a happy man who so tives | |
ag that death at all times may find him at leisure | |
to die.—freltham. | |
What! is there no bribing death ?— Dying | |
words of-—Curdinal Beaufort. | |
Everything dies, and on this spring morn- | |
ing, if I lay my ear to the ground, I seein to hear | |
from every point of the compass, the heavy step | |
of men who carry a corpse.to its burial.— | |
Madame de Gasparin. | |
There is no finite life except unto death ; no | |
death except unto higher life.—Bunsen. | |
Death, of all estimated evils, is the only one | |
whose presence never incommoded anybody, and | |
which only canses concern during its absence.— | |
Arcesilaus. | |
That which is so universal as death must be | |
a benetit.— Schiller. | |
Death opens the gate of fame, and shuts the | |
gate of envy after it; it unlooses the chain of | |
the captive, and puts the bondsman’s task into | |
another man’s hand.—Sterne. | |
Death is the dropping of the flower that the | |
fruit may swell.—Beecher. | |
Let dissolution come when it will, it can do | |
sthe Christian no harm, for it will be but a pas- | |
sage out of a prison into'a palace; out of a sca | |
of troubles into a haven of rest ; out of a crowd | |
of enemies to an innumerable company of true, | |
foving, and faithful friends; ont of shame, re- | |
proach, and contempt, into exceeding great and | |
eternal glory.—Bunyan. | |
Life is the triumph of our mouldering clay ; | | |
death, of the spirit infinite! divine ! — Young. | |
We die every day; every moment deprives | |
us ofa portion of life and advances us a step | |
toward the grave; our-whole life is only a long | |
and painful sickness. —iassillon. | |
He who fears death has already lost the life | |
he covets.— Cato. | |
Death is the wish of some, the relief of many, | |
and the end of all. It sets the slave at liberty, | |
.carries the banished man home, and places all | |
mortals on the same level, insomuch that life it- | |
self were a punishment -without it.—-Seneca. | |
Death is an equal doom to good and bad, the | |
common inn of rest.— Spenser. | |
Setting is preliminary to brighter rising ; | |
decay is a process of advancement ; death is the | |
condition of higher and more fruitful life.— | |
Chapin. | |
Death but supplies the oil for the inextin- | |
guishable lamp of life —- Coleridge. | |
The day of onr decease-will be that of our | |
coming of age; and with our last breath we | |
shall become free of the universe. And in some | |
region of infinity, and from among its splen- | |
dors, this earth will be looked back on like 7a | |
lowly home, and this life of onrs be remembered | |
like a short apprenticeship 10 duty.—.ountford. | |
How wonderful is Death, —— Death and his | |
brother, Sleep ! Shelley. | |
Death possesses a good deal of real estate, | |
namely, the graveyard in every'town.— =~ | |
Hauthorne. | |
It seems as though, at the approach of a cer- | |
tain dark hour, the light of heaven infills those | |
who are leaving the light of earth. | |
Victor Hugo. | |
A short death is the sovereign good hap of | |
hnman life.—Pliny. _ | |
The sense of death is most in apprehension ; | |
and the poor beetle, that we tread-upon, in cor- | |
poral sufferance finds a pang as great as when a | |
giant dies.—Shakespeare. | |
Death ? Translated into the heavenly tongue, | |
that word means Kife ! —Beecher. | |
We sometimes congratulate ourselves at the | |
moment of waking from a tronbled dream, — it | |
may be so the moment after death. — Hawthorne. | |
Death is not an end, but a transition crisis. | |
All the forms of decay are but masks of regen- | |
eration, — the secret alembics of vitality. — | |
Chapin. | |
It seems to be remarkable that death in- | |
creases our veneration for the ‘good, and exten- | |
uates our hatred for the bad.—Johnson. | |
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DEATH. | |
117 | |
DEATH. | |
The tongnes of dying men enforce attention, i | |
like deep harmony.—Shiikespeare. | |
‘The whole life of a_ philosopher is the med- | |
itation of his death.— Cicero. | |
But the grave is not deep; it is the shining | |
trend of an angel that seeks ns. When the mn- | |
kavwn hand throws the fatal dart at the end of | |
aman, then boweth he'his head, and‘ the durt only | |
lifts the crown of thorns from his wounds.—: | |
Richter. | |
Passing through nature to eternity.— | |
- Shakespeare. | |
Death opencth the gate to good fume, and | |
extingnisheth envy.—Bacon. | |
Like other tyrants, death delights to smite | |
what, smitten, most proclaims the pride of | |
power and arbitrary nod.— Young. | |
Tt is uncertain at what place death awaits | |
thee. Wait thon for it at every place—Seneca. | |
Death is as near to the young as to the old ; | |
here is all the difference: death stands behind | |
the young inan’s back, before the old inan’s | |
face—Rev. 1. Adams. ‘ | |
Not where death hath power may love be | |
dlest.—JZrs. Lemans. | |
Death lies on her like an untimely frost upon | |
the sweetest flower of all the field.— | |
Shakespeare. | |
To close the cyes, and give a seemly comfort | |
to the apparel of the dead, is poverty’s holiest | |
touch of nature.—Dickens. . | |
What can they suffer that do not fear to dic? | |
Plutarch. | |
O eloquent, just, and mighty death! whom | |
none could advise thou hast persuaded, what | |
none hath dared thon hast done, and whom | |
all the world hath flattered thou only hast cast | |
ont of the world and despised ; thou hast drawn | |
itogether all the far-stretched greatuess, -all-the | |
ride, cruelty, and ambition of men, and covered | |
it all over with these two narrow words, Lie | |
jace !—Sir Walter Raleigh. | |
O death! thou gentle end of human sorrows. | |
, Rowe. | |
Neath and loye'are the two wings which bear | |
man from earth to-heaven.—Afiehael Angelo. | |
Early, bright, transient, chaste as morning | |
dew, she sparkled, was exhaled, and went to | |
heaven.— Young.” ° . | |
The sleeping: and the dead are but as pic- | |
tures; it is the eye*tof childhood that fears. a | |
painted devil.— Shakespeare. | |
That evil can never be great which is the | |
last.— Cornelius Nepos. | |
Nothing can we call onr own but death, | |
and that small inodel of the barren carth which | |
serves as paste nnd cover to our bones.— .. | |
Shakespeare. | |
Dear beauteous death, the jewel of the just. | |
Llenry Vaughan. | |
It is not strange that a bright memory | |
should come to a dying old man, as the sun- | |
shine breaks across the hills at the close of a | |
stormy day; nor that.in the light of that ray | |
the very clouds that made'the day dark should | |
grow gloriously beautiful. —Lfawthorne. | |
There is nodeath! ‘What scems so is tran- | |
sition —Longfellow. - | |
There is nothing of evil in life for him who | |
rightly comprehends that death is no evil; to | |
know how to die delivers us from alt subjection | |
and constraint.—.Vontaigne. | |
Cruel as death and hungry as the grave. | |
Thorson. | |
The bed of death bringstevery human being | |
to his pure individuality ; to the intense con- | |
templation of that deepest and most solemn of | |
all relations, the relation between the creature | |
and his Creator.—Daniel Webster. | |
Death borders upon our birth, and our | |
cradle stands in the grave.— Bishop Hall. | |
The wearicst and most loathed worldly life | |
that: age, ache, penury, and imprisomment can | |
Jay on nature is a paradise to what we fear of | |
death.— Shakespeare. . | |
Good men but see death, the wicked. taste it. | |
Ben Jonson. | |
He that dies in an earnest pursuit is like one | |
that is wounded in hot blood, who, for the | |
time, scarce fecls the hurt; ‘and therefore a | |
mind fixed and bent upon somewhat that is | |
good doth avert the dolors of death; but above | |
all,. believe it, the sweetest canticle is, “Lord, | |
now lettest thou thy servant depart in peace.” — | |
Bacon. | |
- If Socrates died like a sage, Jesus died like | |
a God.—Roussean. | |
Tf f must die, I will enconnter darkness as a | |
bride, and hug it in mine arms.— Shakespeare. | |
Death makes a beautiful appeal to oharity. | |
When we look upon the dead form, so composed | |
and still, the kindness and the love that are in | |
us all come: forth.— Chapin. | |
Death is as the foreshadowing of life. We | |
dic that we may dic no more.—Looker. | |
--- Chunk 2, Page 36 --- | |
DEBT. | |
118 | |
DECEIT. | |
The gods eonceal from men the happiness of | |
death, that they may endure life.—Zucan. | |
Death, which hateth and destroyeth a man, | |
is believed; God, Which hath made him and | |
loves him, is always deferred.— | |
Sir Walter Raleigh. | |
I must sleep now. — Dying words of— | |
Byron. | |
DEBT. | |
A man who owes a little can clear it off in a | |
very little time, and, if he is a prudent man, | |
will; whereas a man who, by long negligence, | |
owes a great deal, despairs of ever being able to | |
pay, and therefore never looks into his accounts | |
at all.— Chesterfield. | |
Man hazards the condition and loses the | |
virtues of freeman, in proportion as he accus- | |
toms his thoughts to view without anguish or | |
shame his lapse into the bondage of debtor.— | |
Bulwer Lytton. | |
Lose not thy own for want of asking for it; | |
it will get thee no thanks.—/'udler. | |
Small debts are like small shot, — they are | |
yattling on every side, and can scarcely be | |
escaped without a wound; great debts are like | |
cannon, of loud noise but little danger.— | |
Johnson. | |
Many delight more in giving of presents | |
than in paying their debts.—Sir P. Sidney. | |
Paying of debts is, next to the graee of God, | |
the best means in the world to deliver you from | |
a thonsand temptations to sin and vanity.— | |
Delany. | |
Deht is the fatal disease of republics, the | |
first thing ‘ind the mightiest to undermine gov- | |
ernment and corrupt the people.— | |
Wendell Phillips. | |
Debt, grinding debt, whose iron face the | |
widow, the orphan, and the s .ns of genins fear | |
and hate; — debt, which consimnes so much | |
time, which so cripples and disheartens © great | |
spirit with cares that seem so base, is a precep- | |
tor whose lessons cannot be foregone, and is | |
needed most by those who suffer from it most.— | |
E’merson. | |
Debt is to man what the serpent is to the | |
bird; its eye fascinates, its breath poisons, its | |
coil crushes sinew and bone, its jaw is the piti- | |
less grave.—Bulwer Lytion. | |
-A slight debt produces a debtor; a heavy | |
one an enemy.— Publius Syras. | |
Never be argued ont of your soul, never be | |
argued ont of your honor, and never be argued | |
into believing that soul and honor do not run a | |
terrible risk if you limp into life with the load | |
of a debt on your shoulders.—Bulwer Lytton. | |
DECEIT. | |
It is in disputes'as in armies, where the | |
weaker side sets up false lights,and makes a | |
great noise, to make the enemy believe them | |
more numerous and strong than they really are. | |
Of all the agonies in life, that which is most | |
poignant and harrowiug — that which for the | |
time annihilates reason, and leaves our whole | |
organization one lacerated, mangled heart — is | |
the conviction that we have been deecived where | |
we placed all the trust of love.—Bulwer Lytton. | |
It is a pity we so often succeed in onr at- | |
tempts to deceive each other, for our double- | |
dealing generally comes down upon ourselves. | |
To speak a lie or to act a lie is alike contempti- | |
ble in the sight of God and man.—Everton. | |
‘All false practices and affections of knowl- | |
edge are more odious to God, and deserve to be | |
so to men, than any want or defect of knowledge | |
can be.—Sprat. | |
It is great, it is manly, to disdain disguise ; | |
it shows our spirit, or it proves our strength.— | |
Young. | |
It is as easy to deceive one’s self without | |
perceiving it as itis diffienlt to deceive others | |
without their finding it out.—Rochefoucauld. | |
Tf a misplaced admiration shows imbecility, | |
an affected criticism shows vice of character. | |
Expose thyself rather to appear a -beast than | |
false.—Diderot. | |
He was justly accounted a skilful poisoner | |
who destroyed his victims by bouquets of lovely | |
and fragrant flowers. The art ‘has not been | |
lost; nay, is practised every day,— by the | |
world.—Latimer, | |
Trust not in him that seems a saint.— Fuller. | |
The surest way of making a dupe is to let | |
your victim suppose you are his.—-Bulwer Lytton. | |
O that deceit shontd dwell in such a gorgeous | |
palace ! —Shakespeare. : | |
There are falschoods which represent-truth | |
so well that it wonld be judging iil not to be | |
deceived by them.— Rochefoucanld. | |
We never deceive for a good purpose; | |
knavery.adds malice to falschood.—Brayere. | |
Deceit.and falsehood, whatever conveniences | |
they may for a time promise or produce, are, in | |
the sun of life, obstacles to happiness. Those | |
who profit by the cheat distrust the deceiver ; | |
and the act by which kindness was sought puts | |
an end to confidence.— Johnson. | |
No man was ever so mmch deceived by an- | |
other as by himself—Lord Grenille. | |
--- Chunk 2, Page 37 --- | |
DECEIT. 119 DECISION. | |
Ah,..that deceit should steal such gentle As: that g Ikint can best affect-n: pretended | |
-shapes, and with a yirtuons visor hide deep vice! | passion for oné woman who has no truc:love | |
Shakespeare. | for another, so he that has no real esteem for | |
any of the -virtnes can best assume the appenr- | |
Some frauds sueceed from the apparent ean- {| anee of them-all.—Colton. : | |
dor, the. open coutidence, and the full blaze of - | |
ingennousness that is thrown around them. We have few faults that are not more ex- | |
The slightest mystery would excite suspicion, | cusable in themselves than are the means which | |
and. ruin all. .Such stratagems maybe com-| we use to conecal them.—/ochefoucauld. | |
pared to the stars, theyvare «discoverable by . — | |
darkness and hidden only by light.— Colton. Cheaters must get some credit hefore they | |
can cozen,and all falsehood, if not fonnded in | |
Deceit is the false road to happiness; and | some truth, would not’be fixed in-any beticf.— | |
-ul the joys. we travel throngh to vice, like fair: Fuller. | |
bangnets, vanish when we tench them.— - | |
dlaron ELill. It is too much proved, that, with devotion’s | |
visage and pions'action, we do sugar over the | |
It many times falls ont that we deem our-} Devil himself— Shakespeare. | |
selves inuch deceived in others beeanse we first | |
deceived ourselyes.— Sir P, Sidney. Wiles:and deceit are female qualities. — | |
LEschylus. | |
We are ‘so accustomed to masquerade onr- “ os | |
selves before others that we end by deceiving O, what a tangled web we weave when first | |
ourselyes.—Rockcfoucauld, we practise to deceive ! — Walter Scott. ’ | |
Life is the art of being well deceived.— Many an honest man practises upon himself | |
Hazlitt. |anramount of deceit suflicient, if practised upon | |
another, and in a little different way, to send | |
All deception in the course of life is indeed | him to the state prison.— Bovee. | |
nothing else but a tie reduced to practice, -and — | |
falsehood passing from words into things.— Men are never so easily deceived as while | |
South. | they are endeavoring to deceiye others.— . | |
Rochefoucauld. | |
Men, like musical instruments, seem made | |
to be played upon.—Boree. Mankind in the gross is a gaping monster, | |
- that loves to be deceived, and has seldom been | |
Man is nothing but insincerity, falsehood, | disappointed.—Jfackenzie. | |
and hypocrisy, both in regard to himself and in | |
regard to others. He does not wish that he False face must hide what the false heart | |
shoul be told the truth, he shuns saying it to | doth know.—Shakespeare. | |
others; and all these moods, so inconsistent | |
with justice and reason, have their roots in his The life even of a just man is’a round of | |
heart.—Pascal. petty frauds ; that of'a knave a series of greater. | |
We degrade life by our follies and. vices, and | |
The first and worst of all frauds is to cheat] then complain that the unhappiness which ig | |
one’s self. All sin is casy after that—Bailey. j only their accompaniment is inherent in the | |
constitution of things —Bovee. —» | |
He who attempts to make others believe in | |
means which he himself despises is a puffer ; We are never deceived ; we deceive ourselves. | |
he who makes use‘of more means than he knows Goethe. | |
to be necessury is aquack ; and he who ascribes |] DECENCY. o - | |
to those means a greater efficacy than his Decency is the least. of all laws, but yet | |
own experience warrants is an impostor.— it is the law which is the most strictly observed. | |
° “ Lavater. Rochefoucauld. | |
. DECISION, . ~ | |
He was no civil rnffian; none of those who], There-is nothing more to be esteemed than | |
lie with twisted looks, betray with shrugs. ‘a manty firmness and decision of character. 1 | |
Thomson. | like a person who knows his own mind and | |
- . sticks to it; who sees at-once what is to be done | |
Men are so simple, and yield so much. to ne-| in given circumstances and does it—//aslitt. ~ | |
eéssity, that he who will deceive will always find | |
him who will lend himself to be deceived. — The woman who is resolved to be respected | |
Machiavelli. | can make herself to be so even ainidst an army | |
of soldiers.— Cervantes. | |
The true motives of our-actions, like the | |
real pipes of an organ, are usually concealed ; When desperate ills demand a speedy cure, | |
but the gilded.and hollow pretext is pompously | distrust is cowardice and prudence folly.— | |
placed in the front tor show.— Colton. Johnson. | |
--- Chunk 2, Page 38 --- | |
DEFEAT. | |
120 | |
DELICACY. | |
Whatever we think ont, whatever we take | |
in hand to do, should be perfectly and finally | |
finished, that the word, if it must alter, will | |
only have to spoil it; we have then nothing to | |
do but unite the severed, to recollect’ and re- | |
store the dismembered.— Goethe. | |
T hate to see things done by halves. If it be | |
right, do it boldly; if it be wrong, leave it un- | |
done.— Gilpin. | |
DEFEAT. | |
What is defeat? Nothing but education, | |
nothing but the first step to something better.— | |
Wendell Phillips. | |
Defeat is a school in which truth“always | |
grows strong.—Beecher. | |
No man is defeated without some resentment | |
which will be continued with obstinacy while he | |
believes himself in the right, and asserted with | |
bitterness, if even to his own conscience he is | |
detected in the wrong.—Johnson. | |
DEFERENCE, | |
Deference is the most complicate, the most | |
indirect, and the most elegant of all compli- | |
ments.— Shenstone. | |
Deference often shrinks and withers as much | |
upon the approach of intimacy as the sensitive | |
plant does npon the touch of one’s finger.— | |
L henstone. | |
DEFORMITY. | |
Do you suppose-we owe nothing to Pope’s | |
deformity? He said to himself, “If my person | |
be crooked, my verses shall be straight.”— | |
Hazlitt. | |
Deformed, unfinished, sent before my time | |
into this breathing world, scarce half made ap, | |
and that so lamely and unfashionably, that dogs | |
bark-at meas I halt by them.— Shakespeare. | |
Many a man has risen to eminence under | |
the powerful reaction of his mind in fierce | |
counter-agency to the scorn of the unworthy, | |
daily evoked by his personal defects, who with | |
a handsome person would have sunk into the | |
lnxury of a careless life under the tranquillizing | |
smiles of continual admiration.—De Quincey. | |
Deformity is daring; it is its essence to | |
overtake mankind by heart and soul, and make | |
itself the eqiial, ay, the superior of the rest.— | |
Byron. | |
From whence comes it that a cripple in | |
body does not irritate us, and that a crippled | |
mind enrages us? It is becanse a cripple sees | |
that we go right, and a distorted mind says that | |
it is we who go astray. But for that we should | |
have more pity and less rage. —Pauscal. | |
DELAY. | |
In delay we waste our lights in vain, like | |
lamps by day.— Shakespeare. | |
The procrastinator is not only indolent and | |
weak, but commonly false too; most of the | |
weak are false.—Lavater. | |
Defer no time; delays have dangerous ends. | |
Shakespeare. | |
Procrastination is the thief of time; year | |
‘after year it steals, till all are fled,-and to the | |
mercies of a moment leaves the vast concerns | |
of an eternal scene.— Young. | |
O, how many deeds of deathless virtue and | |
immortal crime the world had wanted had the | |
actor said, “I will do this to-morrow ” ! — | |
Lord John Russell. | |
Every delay is hateful, but it gives wisdom.— | |
Publius Syrus. | |
That we would do we should do when we | |
would, for this would changes, and hath abate- | |
ments and delays as many as there are tongues, | |
are hands, are accidents ; and then this should | |
is like a spendthrift’s sigh, that hurts by easing. | |
Shakespeare. | |
He who prorogues the honesty of to-day till | |
to-morrow will probably prorogue his to-mor- | |
rows to eternity. —Lavater. | |
Dull not device by coldness and delay.— | |
Shakespeare. | |
Delay has ever been injurious to those who | |
are prepared.—Lucan. | |
Go, fool, and teach a cataract to creep! can | |
thirst, empire, vengeance, beauty, wait? — Young. | |
Some one speaks admirably of “the well- | |
ripened frnit of sage delay.” —alzac. | |
Lingering labors come to nanght.-—— | |
Robert Southwell. | |
He that gives time to resolve gives leisure | |
to deny, and warning to prepare.— Quarles. | |
Fearful commenting is leaden servitor to | |
dull delay; delay leads impotent and snail- | |
paced beggary.— Shakespeare. | |
DELICACY. | |
There is a certain delicacy which in yielding | |
conquers ; and with a pittful look, makes one | |
find cause to crave help one’s self | |
Sir P. Sidney. | |
Delicacy is to the affections what grace is to | |
the beauty.—Degerando. | |
Weak men often, from the very princi- | |
ple of their weakness, derive a certain suscepti- | |
bility, delicacy, and taste, which render them, in | |
those particulars, much superior to men of | |
stronger and more consistent minds who langh | |
at them.—Lord Greuille. | |
--- Chunk 2, Page 39 --- | |
DELUSION. | |
121 | |
DEPENDENCE. | |
Antappearance of delicacy, and even of fra- | |
-gility, is almost essential to beauty.— Burke. | |
Friendship, love, and piety ought to be | |
handled with a sort of mysterious secrecy 5 they | |
ought to be spoken of only in the rare‘moments | |
of perfect cunfidence, to be mutually under- | |
stood iu silenee. Many things, are too delicate | |
to be thought; many more, to be-spoken.— | |
° Novalis. | |
The hand of little employment hath the | |
duintier sense.— Shakespeare. | |
Trne delicacy, that most heantifol heart- | |
lenf of humanity, exhibits itself most signifi- | |
eantly in little things.—Jfary Howitt. | |
Delicacy is to the mind what fragrance is to | |
the fruit—Achilles Poincelot. | |
The finest qualities of our nature, like the | |
bloom on frnits, can be preserved only by the | |
most delicate handling.— Thoreau, | |
DELUSION. | |
Were we perfectly acquainted with the ob- | |
ject, we should never passionately desire it.— | |
Rochefoucauld. | |
‘ | |
The worst deluded are the self-deluded.— | |
Bovee. | |
No man is hippy without a delusion of some | |
kind. Delusions are as necessary to our happi- | |
ness as realitics.—Bovee. | |
*When our vices quit us, we flatter ourselves | |
with the belief that it is we who quit them.— | |
Rochefoucauld. | |
We strive as hard to hide onr hearts from | |
ourselves as from vthers, and always with more | |
success ; for in deciding upon our own case we | |
are -both judge, jury,, and executioner, and | |
where sophistry carmmot ‘overcome the first, or | |
flattery the sccond, self-love is always ready to | |
defeat the sentence by bribing the third.— | |
Colton. | |
Yon think-a man to be your dupe; if he | |
pretends to be so, who is the greatest dupe, — he | |
or you 1—Bruyére. | |
DEMOCRACY. | |
It is the most beautiful-truth in morals that | |
we have no sneh thing as a distinct or divided” | |
interest from our race. In their welfare is ours, | |
vand by choosing the broadest paths: to effect | |
their happiness we choose’ the. surest and the | |
shortest to our own.—Buheer Lytton. | |
Lyeurgus being asked why’ he, who in other | |
respects appeared to be so zenlous for the equal | |
rights of men, did not make his government | |
democratical rather than oligarehical, “Go | |
you,” replied the legislator, “and try a democ- | |
raey in your own house.”—Pluarch. | |
The idea of bringing all nen on an-equality | |
with each other bas always been a pleasant | |
dreain ; the law cannot equalize meu in spite of | |
nature.— Fauvenargues. | |
in every village there will arise-a_miscreant | |
to establish the most grinding tyrauny by calling | |
himself the people.—Sir Lobert Peel. | |
‘) | |
“Tt is-a great blessing,” says Pascal, “ to | |
be born a man of quality, since it brings one | |
man as far forward at cighteen or twenty as | |
another man would be at fifty, which is a clear | |
gain of thirty years.” These thirty years are | |
commonly wanting to the ambitions characters | |
of democracies. The principle of equality, | |
which allows every mun to arrive at everything, | |
prevents all men from rapid advancement.— | |
De Tocqueville. | |
If there were a people consisting of gods, | |
they; would be governed democratically. So | |
perfect a government is not suitable: to imen.— | |
Rousseau. | |
Democracy is always the work of kings. | |
Ashes, which in themselves are sterile, fertiliz | |
the land they are ‘cast upon.—Landor. . | |
DEPENDENCE. | |
God has made no one absolnte. The rich | |
depend on the poor, as well as the poor on the | |
rich. The world is but “a: mere magnificent | |
building ; all the stones are gradually cemented | |
together. There is no one subsists by himself | |
alone.—Felthum. | |
In an arch each single stone, which, if | |
severed from the rest, would be perhaps de- | |
fenceless, is sufficiently secured by the solidity | |
and entireness of the whole fabric of which it is | |
a part.— Boyle. | |
No degree of knowledge attainable by man | |
is able to set him above the want of hourly as- | |
sistance.—Johnson. . | |
That :acknowledgment of weakness which | |
we make in imploring tu be relieved from hun- | |
ger and from temptation is surely wisely put | |
in our daily prayer. Think of it, you who are | |
rich, and tuke heed how yon turn a beggar | |
away.— Thackeray. | |
Dependence is a perpetual call upon hu- | |
manity, and a greater incitement tu tenderness | |
and pity than any other motive whatsgever.— | |
Addison. | |
When we consider how weak we-are in our- | |
selves, yea, the very strongest’ of us, snd how | |
assaulted, we may justly wonder that we ¢an | |
continue one day in the state of grace; but | |
when we look on the strength by which we are | |
guarded, the power of God, then we see the | |
teason of our stability to the end; for omnip- | |
otency supports us, and the everlasting arms | |
are under us.— Leighton. | |
--- Chunk 2, Page 40 --- | |
DESERTS. | |
The greatest man living may stand in need | |
of the meanest, as mueh as the meanest does of | |
him.— fuller. | |
There is none made so great but he may | |
both need the help and service, and stand in | |
fear of the power and_unkindness, even of the | |
nieanest of mortals. —Seneca. | |
How beautifully is it ordered, that as many | |
thousands work for one, so must every indi- | |
vidual bring his labor to make the whole! | |
The highest is not to despise the lowest, nor | |
the lowest to envy the highest; each must | |
live in all and by all.’ Who will not work, | |
neither shall he eat. So God has ordered that | |
men, being in need of each other, should learn | |
to love each other, and bear cach other’s burdens. | |
G. A, Sala. | |
Heaven’s eternal wisdom has deereed that | |
man of man should ever stand iu need.— | |
Theocritus. | |
Dependence goes somewhat against the grain | |
of a generous mind; and it is no wonder that | |
it shonld do so, considering the unreasonable | |
advantage which is often taken of the inequality | |
of fortune.—Jeremy Collier. | |
Thon shalt know by experience how salt | |
the savor is of others’ bread, and how sad a path | |
it is to elimb and deseend another’s stairs.— | |
Dante. | |
DESERTS. | |
Use every man after his desert, and who | |
should-escape whipping? Use them after your | |
own honor and dignity; the less they deserve, | |
the more meritis in your bounty.— Shakespeare. | |
DESIRE. | |
Some desire is necessary to keep life in mo- | |
tion, and he whose real wants are supplied | |
must admit those of faney.— Johnson. | |
All impediments in faney’s course are mo- | |
tives of more fancy.— Shakespeare. | |
We never desire ardently what we desire | |
rationally.—Rochefoucauld. | |
By annihilating the desires, you’ annihilate | |
the mind. Every man without passions has | |
within him no prineiple of action, nor motive to | |
aet.— Helvetius. | |
The shadows of our own desires stand he- | |
tween us and our better angels, and thus their | |
brightness is eclipsed.—Dickens. | |
What we wish for in youth comes in heaps | |
on us in old age.— Goethe. | |
Every desire bears its death in its very | |
gratification. Curiosity languishes under re- | |
peated stimulants, and novelties cease to excite | |
surprise, until at length ave eannot wonder | |
even at a miracle.— Washington Irving. | |
122 | |
DESIRE | |
It is better to desire than to enjoy, to love | |
than to be loved.—J/azlitt. | |
Every desire is a viper in the bosom, who, | |
while he was chill, was harmless; but when | |
warmth gave him strength, exerted it in poi- | |
son.—J/ofmson. | |
_ We trifle when we assign limits to our de- | |
sires, sinee nature has set none.—Bovee. | |
The passious and desires, like the two twists | |
of a rope, mutually mix one with the other, | |
and twine inextricably round the heart; pro- | |
ducing good if moderately indulged, but cer- | |
tain destruetion if sutiered to become inordinate. | |
Burton. | |
Happy the man who early learns the wide | |
chasm that lies between his wishes .ind his | |
powers !— Goethe. | |
Unlawful desires «are punished after the ef- | |
fect of enjoying; but impossible desires are | |
punished in the desire itselfi—Sir P. Sidney. | |
While we desire, we do not enjoy; and with | |
enjoyment desire ceases, which should lend its | |
strongest zest to it. This, however, does not | |
apply to the gratification of sense, but to the | |
passions, in which distance and diffieulty have | |
a prineipal share.—J/ualitt. | |
Before we passionately desire anything which | |
another enjoys, we should cxamine into the | |
happiness of its possessor.—Rochefoucaud. | |
Keep you in the rear of your affection, out | |
of the shot and danger of desire.— Shakespeare. | |
He who can wait for what he desires takes | |
the eourse not to hé exceedingly-grieved if he | |
fails of it; he, on the contrary, who labors | |
after a thing too impatiently thinks the suceess | |
when it comes is not a recompense equal to all | |
the pains he has been at about it.—Brayere. | |
Our nature is inseparable from desires, and | |
the very ‘word “desire” (the craving for some- | |
thing not possessed) implics that our present | |
felicity is not complete.—LZobbes. | |
Heart’s-ease is a flower which blooms from | |
the grave of desire.— IV. R. Alger. | |
There is nothing eapricions in nature. In | |
nature the implanting of a desire indieates. that | |
the gratification of that desire is in the constitu- | |
tion of the ereature that feels it—merson. | |
Ere yet we yearn for what is out of our | |
reach, we are still in the cradle. When wearied | |
out with our yearnings, desire again falls asleep, | |
we are on the death-bed.— Bulwer Lyiton. | |
However rieh or clevated,-a nameless some | |
thing is always wanting to our imperfect for- | |
tunc.— Horace. : | |
--- Chunk 2, Page 41 --- | |
DESPAIR. 1 | |
23 | |
DESPAIR. | |
Perish the lore that deadens young desire.— | |
° Beattie. | |
In moderating, not in satisfying desires, lies | |
peace.— Heber. ' | |
DESPAIR. | |
Sick in- the world’s regard, wretched and | |
low. —Shakespeare. | |
There,are some vile and contemptible inen | |
Who, allowing themselves to be conquered by | |
misfortune, seek 2 refuge in death.—slgathon. | |
Despair-is the greatest of our errors.— | |
Vauvenargues. | |
Despair is like forward children, who, when | |
yon take away one of their playthings, throw | |
the rest into -the fire for madness. It -grows | |
angry with itself, turns its own executioner,and | |
revenges its misfortunes on its own head.— | |
Charron.' | |
Beware of desperate steps. The darkest | |
day, live till to-morrow, will have passed away. | |
Cowper. | |
Despair, thon hast the noblest issues of all | |
ill, which frailty brings us to; for to be worse | |
we fexr not, and who cannot lose is ever a frank | |
gamester.—Sir Robert Toward. ° | |
For me— I hold no commerce with despair ! | |
Dawes. | |
Despair makes a despicable figure, and de- | |
scends from a mean original. It is the off | |
spring of fear, of laziness, of impatience; itt | |
‘arenes a defect of spirit and resolution, and | |
oftentimes of honesty too.—-Jeremy Collier. | |
It is late before the brave despair.— | |
Thomson. | |
To despond is to he ungrateful beforehand. | |
Be not looking for evil. Often thon diainest | |
the gall of fear while evil is passing thy dwell | |
ing.—Tupper. | |
Despair makes victims-soinetimes victors.— | |
Bulwer Lytton, | |
I am one'whom the vile blows and buf. | |
fets of the world lave so incensed that I am | |
reckless what I do to spite the world.— | |
Shakespeare. | |
Despair, — the last dignity of the wretehed.— | |
: Henry Giles. | |
A broken heart is a distemper which kills | |
many more than is generally imagined, and | |
.would have a fair title to a’place in the bills of | |
mortality, did it not differ in one instance from | |
all other diseases, namely, that no physicians | |
can cure it.—sielding. | |
Rage is for litde wrongs; despair is dumb. | |
° Lannah More. | |
Lachrymal connsellors, with one foot in the | |
eave of despair, and-the other invading the | |
peace of their friends, are the paralyzers of action, | |
the pests of society, and the subtlest homicides | |
in the world; they poison with a tear; and | |
eonvey'a dagrer to the heart, while they press | |
you to their bosoms.—./ane Porter. | |
Despair, sir, is a dauntless hero.— /olcroft. | |
.~ All hope is lost of my reception into grace ; | |
what worse? For where no hope is left, is left | |
no fear.—dfilton. | |
Despair doth strike as deep a furrow in | |
the brain as mischief or remorse.— | |
Barry Cormeall. | |
He that despairs degrades the Deity, .and | |
Of all fanits the greatest is the exeess-of}.scems to intimate that he is insufficient, or not | |
impious terror, dishonoring divine grace. | |
He' just to his word; ‘and in vain hath read the | |
who despairs wants love, wants faith; for faith, | Seriptures, the world, and man.—/*eltham. | |
hope, and love are three turches which blend | |
their light together, nor docs the one shine with- | |
‘out the other.—Metustasio. | |
Despair gives the shocking ease to the mind | |
that a moriilication gives.to the body.— | |
- Lord Greuille. | |
Asia general rule, those who are dissatisfied | |
with theniselves will seek to go ont of them- | |
selves into an ideal world. Persons. in strong | |
health and spir | |
exercise, who ‘are “in favor with their stars,” | |
and have a thorongh relish of the good things | |
.Wwho take plenty of air and} | |
The mild despairing of.a heart resigned — | |
- Coleridge. | |
I would not despair uniess I knew the ir- | |
revocable decree was passed ; saw my misfor- | |
tune recorded in the book of fate, and signed | |
and sealed by necessity. —Jeremy Collier. | |
Despair is the damp of hell; rejoicing is the | |
serenity of heaven.—Donne. | |
The passage of providenre lics throngh | |
many crooked ways ;'a despairing heart is the | |
of this life, seldom devote themselves in despair] true prophet of approaching evil; his actions | |
to religion or-the Muses. .Sedentary; uervons, | |
‘J may! weave the webs of fortune, but not break | |
h¥pochondriteal people, on thé ‘contrary, are! them.—Quarles. | |
forced, for want of un appetite for the real and | |
substantial, to look out for amore airy food aud | |
speculative comforts.—Lfazlitt. | |
Some noble spirits mistake despair for con- | |
tent.— Willis. | |
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DESPATCH. | |
124 | |
DESTINY. | |
Even every ray of hope destroyed and not a | |
wish to gild the gloom.—Burus. | |
To doubt is worse than to have lost; and to | |
despair is but to antedate those miserics that | |
must fall on us.—AZassinger. | |
The fact that God has prohibited despair | |
gives misfortune the right to hope all things, | |
and leuves hope free to dare all things.— | |
Madame Swetchine. | |
Try what repentance can; what can it not? | |
yet what can it, when one cannot repent? O | |
wretched state! © bosom black as death! O | |
liméd soul, that, struggling to be free, art | |
more engaged ! —Shakespeare. | |
Despair defies even despotism ; there is that | |
in my heart would make its way through hosts | |
with levelled spears.—Byron, | |
O God! O God! How weary, stale, flat, | |
and unprofitable seem to me all the uses of this | |
world ! —Shakespeare. | |
Religion converts despair, which destroys, | |
into resignation, which submits.— | |
Lady Blessington. | |
My day is closed! the gloom of night is | |
come! 1 hopeless darkness settles over my | |
fate.—Joannu Baillie. | |
DESPATCH. | |
True despatch is a rich thing. For time is | |
the measure of business, as moncy is of wares, | |
and business is bought at a dear hand ‘where | |
there is sinall despatch.—Bacon.” | |
To choose time is to save time; and an un- | |
seasonable motion is but beating the air. There | |
be three parts of business, — the preparation, the | |
debate or examination, and the perfection ; | |
whercof, if you look for despatch, let the middle | |
only be the work of many, and the first and | |
last the work of few.—Bacon. | |
DESPONDENCY. | |
Life is a warfare; and he who easily de- | |
sponds deserts a double duty, — he betrays the | |
noblest property of man, which is dauntless res- | |
olution ; and he rejeets the providence of that | |
All-gracious Being who guides and rules the | |
universe.—Jane Porter. | |
To believe a business impossible is the way | |
to make it so. How many feasible projects | |
have miscarried through despondency, and been | |
strangled in their birth by-a cowardly imagina- | |
tion! —Jeremy Collier. | |
Despondency is not a state of humility; on | |
the contrary, it is the vexation and despair of a | |
cowardly pride, — nothing is worse; whether | |
we stmuble or whether we fall, we must only | |
think of rising again and going on in our | |
course.—Fenelon. ” | |
Some persons depress their own minds, de- | |
spond at the first difficulty ; and conclude that | |
making any progress in knowledge, farther | |
than serves their ordinary business, is above | |
their capacities —Locke. | |
DESPOTISM. | |
Despotism can no more exist in a nation | |
until the liberty of the press be destroyed than | |
the night can happen before the sun is set.— | |
Calton. | |
I will believe in the right of one man -to | |
govern a nation despotically when I find «a man | |
born into the world with boots and spurs, and a | |
nation born with saddles on their backs.— | |
Algernon Sidney. | |
Travellers describe a tree in the island of | |
Java whose pestiferons exhalations blight every | |
tiny blade of grass within the compass of its | |
shade. So it is with despotism.— Ruffini. | |
It is odd to consider the connection between | |
despotism and barbarity, and how the making | |
one person more than man makes the rest less. | |
Addison. | |
Despots govern by terror. They know | |
that he who fears God fears nothing else; and | |
therefore they eradicate from the mind, through | |
their Voltaire, their Helvetius, and the rest of | |
that infamous gang, that only sort of fear which | |
generates true courage.— Burke. | |
In times of anarchy one. may seem a despot | |
in order to be a saviour,.—Mirabeau. | |
As virtue is necessary in a republic, and | |
honor in a monarchy, fear is what is required | |
in a despotism. As for virtue, it is not at all | |
necessary, and honor would be dangerous there. | |
ALontesquieu. | |
When the savages of Louisiana wish to have | |
fruit, they cut the tree at the bottom'and gather | |
the frnit. That is exactly a despotic govern- | |
ment.—A/ontesquien. | |
DESTINY. | |
That which God writes on thy forehead | |
thou wilt come to.—Koran. | |
If the course of human affairs be considered, | |
it will be seen that many things arise against | |
which Heaven does not allow us to guard | |
Machiavelli. | |
Our minds are as different as our faces ;-we | |
are all travelling to one destination, — happi- | |
ness; but few‘are going by the same road.— | |
Colton. | |
Philosophers never stood in need of Homer | |
or the Pharisees, to be convinced that every- | |
thing is done by immutable laws, that every- | |
thing is settled, that everything is a necessary | |
effect of some previous cause. Voltaire. | |
--- Chunk 2, Page 43 --- | |
DEVOTION. | |
Resist as much as thou wilt; heaven’s ways | |
are heaven’s ways.—Lesstug. | |
Nature scems to have prescribed to every | |
man at his birth the bounds of his virtues and | |
viees.—Rochefoucauld. | |
What unknown power governs men! On | |
what feeble causes do their destinies hinge! — | |
Voltaire. | |
T know that nothing comes to pass but what | |
God appoints; our fate is: decreed, and things | |
do not happen by chance, but every man’s por- | |
tion of joy and sorrow is predetermined.— | |
Seneca. | |
\ | |
That which is not allotted the hand cannot | |
reach, and what is allotted will find you wher- | |
ever you may be.—Saadi. | |
Man supposes that he directs his life, and | |
governs his actions, when his existence is irre- | |
trievably under the contro] of destiny.— Goethe. | |
There are but two future verbs which man | |
may appropriate confidently:and withont pride : | |
TL shall sutfer,” and “J shall dic.” — | |
« Madame Swetchine, | |
Stern is the on-look of necessity. Not with- | |
ont a shudder may the hand of man grasp the | |
mysterious urn of destiny.— Schiller. | |
Vast, colossal destiny, which raises man to | |
fame, though it may also grind him to powder ! | |
Schiller. | |
Death and life have their determined ap- | |
ointments; riches and honor depend upon | |
eaven.— Confucius. | |
DEVOTION. | |
The life of a devotee is a crusade of which | |
the heart is the Holy Land.—Alfred de Afusset. | |
125 | |
DIET. | |
2S | |
Those who make use of devotion as a means | |
and end generally are hypocrites.— Goethe. | |
The inward sighs of humble penitence rise | |
to the car of heaven, when pealéd hymns are | |
scattered with the sounds of common iir.— | |
Joanne Baillie. | |
The sceret heart is fair devotion’s temple; | |
there the saint, even on that living altar, lights | |
the flame of purest sacrifice, which burns uu- | |
seen, not unaceepted.—Zannah Aore. | |
Devotion, when it docs not lie under the | |
cheek of reason, is apt to degencrate into en- | |
thusiasm.— Addison. | |
DEW, , | |
Dew-drops are the gems of morning, but the | |
tears of mournful eve ! — Coleridge. | |
That same dew, which sometime on the. buds | |
was wont to swell, like round.and orient pearls, | |
stood now'within the pretty flowerets’ cyes, like | |
tears that did their own disgrace bewail.— | |
Shakespeare. | |
Those tears of the sky for the loss of the | |
sun.— Chesterfield. | |
None can give the dew but God. It comes | |
from above; it is of a celestial original ; the na- | |
tivity thereof is from “the womb of the morn- | |
ing.” None can give grace but God.— | |
Bishop Reynolds. | |
The starlight dews all silently their tears of | |
love instil.—Byron. | |
DIET. | |
_ The chief pleasure (in eating) docs not con- | |
sist in costly seasoning or exqnisite flavor, but | |
-in yourself. Do you seck for sauce by sweating. | |
Llorace. | |
If thou wouldst preserve a sonnd hody, use | |
I find no quality:so easy for a man to coun-| fasting and walking; if a healthful soul, fasting | |
terfeit as devotion, though his life and manner | and praying; walking exercises the body, pray- | |
are not conformable to it; the essence of it is | |
abstruse. and occult, but the appearances easy | |
and -showy.— Montaigne. | |
To worship rightly is to love each other, | |
ing exercises the soul, fasting cleanses both.— | |
Quarles. | |
Simple dict is best; for many dishes hring | |
many diseases, and rich sauces are worse than | |
each smile-a hymn, each kindly deed a prayer.— | even heaping several meats upon each other.— | |
Whittier. | |
+ | |
He who receives a sacrament does not per- | |
form a.good work; he receives a benefit. In | |
the mass we give Christ nothing; we: only | |
receive from him.—Luther. | |
All is holy where devotion kneels.— Holmes. | |
Pliny. | |
Food, improperly taken, not only produces | |
original diseases, but affords those that are | |
already engendered both matter and sustenance ; | |
so that, let the father of disease be what it may, | |
Intemperance is certainly its mother.—Burton. | |
Your worm is your only emperor for. dict ; | |
_Private devotions and secret offices of re-{ we fat all creatures else to fat us, and we fut | |
ligion are like the refreshing of a. garden with | ourselves for maggots.— Shakespeare. | |
the distilling and petty drops of a water-pot; | |
but addressed from the temple, ate like rain | |
from heaven.—Jeremy Taylor. | |
One meal a day-is enough for_a lion,-and it | |
ought to suffice for a man.—Dr. George Fordyce. | |
--- Chunk 2, Page 44 --- | |
DIFFICULTY. | |
126 | |
DIGNITY. | |
A chine of honest bacon would please my | |
appetite more than all the marrow-puddings, | |
for I like them better plain, having a very vul- | |
gar stomach.—Dryden. | |
A fig for your bill of fare; show me your | |
bill of company.— Swift. | |
DIFFICULTY. | |
Hath fortune dealt thee il] cards? let wis- | |
dom make thee a good gamester. In a fair gale, | |
every fool may sail, but wise behavior ina | |
storm commends the wisdom of a pilot; to bear | |
adversity with an equal mind is both the sign | |
and glory of a brave spirit Quarles. | |
Fortune is the best school of conrage when | |
she is fraught with anger, in the same way as | |
winds and tempests are the school of the sailor- | |
boy.—Afetastasio. 7 | |
Difficulty is a severe instrnetor, set over us | |
by the supreme ordinance of a paternal guardian | |
and legislator, who knows us better than we | |
know ourselves, as he loves us better too. He | |
that wrestles with us strengthens our nerves and | |
sharpens our skill. Our antagonist.is onr helper. | |
Burke. | |
It is as hard to come, as for a camel to | |
thread the postern ofta needle’s eye.— | |
Shakespeare. | |
It is difficulties which give birth-to miracles. | |
It is not every calamity that is a curse, and | |
early adversity is often a blessing. Perhaps | |
Madame de Maintenon would never have | |
mounted a throne had not her cradie been | |
rocked in a prison. Surmountéd obstacles not | |
only teach, but hearten us in onr future strng- | |
gles; for virtue must be learnt, though, unfor- | |
tunately, some of the vices come'as it were by | |
inspiration—Rev, Dr. Sharpe. | |
Out of difficulties grow miracles.—Bruyeére. | |
Accustom yourself to master and overcome | |
things of difficnity ; for if you observe, the left | |
hand for. want of practice is insignificant, and | |
not adapted to general business; yet it holds | |
the bridle better than the right, from constant | |
use.— Pliny. | |
The greatest difficulties lie where welare not | |
looking for them.— Goethe. | |
What is difficulty? Only a word indicating | |
the degree of strength requisite for accomplish- | |
ing particular “objects; 2 mere notice of the | |
necessity for exertion; a bugbear to children | |
and fools ; only a mere stimulus to men.— | |
Samuel: Warren. | |
Onr energy is in proportion to the resistance | |
it meets. We can attempt nothing great but | |
from a sense of the difficulties we have to en- | |
counter ; we can persevere in nothing great but | |
from a pride in overcoming them.—Hazlitt. | |
The three things most difficult are — to keep | |
a secret, to forget an injury, and to make good | |
use of leisure.— Chilo. | |
The more powerful) the obstacle, the more | |
glory we have in overcoming it; and the diffi- | |
culties with which we are met are the maids of | |
honor which set off virtue.—JJoliére. | |
There is no merit where there is no trial; | |
and, till experience stamps the mark of strength, | |
cowards may pass for heroes, faith for falsehood. | |
Aaron Hill. | |
_, Difficulties strengthen the mind, as well as | |
labor does the body.— Seneca. | |
Difficulties are things that show what men | |
are. In case of any difficulty remember that | |
God, like a gymnastic trainer, has pitted you | |
against a rough antagonist. For what end? | |
That you may. be an Olympic conqueror, and | |
this cannot be without toil.—Zpictetus. | |
. Wisdom is not found with those who dwell | |
at their ease; rather nature, when she adds | |
brain, adds difficulty Emerson. | |
Difficnities are God’s errands ; and when.we | |
are sent upon them we should esteem it a proof | |
of God’s confidence, —~as a compliment from | |
God.—Beecher. | |
Difficulties, by bracing the mind to overcome | |
them, assist cheerfulness, as exercise assists di- | |
gestion.—Bovee. | |
DIFFIDENCE. | |
Persons extremely reserved are like old | |
enamelled watches, which had painted covers, | |
that hindered your secing what o’clock it was. | |
Walpole. | |
Diffidence may check resolution and ob- | |
struct performance, but compensates its embar- | |
rassments by more important advantages; it | |
concihates the prond,:and softens the severe ; | |
averts envy from excellence, and censure from | |
misearriage.—Johnson. | |
We are as often duped by diffdence as by | |
confidence.— Chesterfield. | |
DIGNITY. . | |
Lord Chatham and Napoleon were as much | |
actors as Garrick or Talia. Now, an imposing | |
air should always be taken as evidence of impo- | |
sition. Dignity is often a veil between us and | |
the real truth of things.— Whipple. | |
True dignity is never gained by place, and | |
never lost when honors are withdrawn.— — | |
Afassinger. | |
Dignity of position adds to dignity of char- | |
acter, as wel] as to dignity of carriage. Give | |
us a proud position, and we are impelled to act | |
up to it—Bovee. | |
--- Chunk 2, Page 45 --- | |
DILIGENCE. | |
127 | |
DISCERNMENT. | |
Dignity consists not in possessing honors, | |
but in deserving them.—Aristotle. | |
Dignity and love do not blend well, nor do | |
they continue long together.— Ovid. | |
DILIGENCE. | |
What we hope ever to do with case we may | |
learn first to do with diligence.—Johnson. | |
Who makes qniek use of the moment js a | |
genius of prudence.—Larater. | |
The expectations of life depend upon dili- | |
gence; and the mechanic that -would perfect | |
his work must first sharpen his tools.— | |
Confucius. | |
Prefer diligence before idleness, unless you | |
esteem rust above brightness.—Plato. | |
DIRT. | |
Dirt is not dirt, but only something in the | |
wrong place.—Zord Palmerston. | |
DISAPPOINTMENT. | |
Oft expectation fails, ‘and most oft there | |
where it most promises ;.and oft it hits where | |
hope is coldest, and despair most sits.— | |
Shakespeare. | |
The darling schemes ‘and fondest hopes of | |
man are frequently frustrated by time. While | |
sagacity contrives, patience matures, and labor | |
industrionsly executes, disappointment langhs | |
at the curious fabric, formed by.so many efforts, | |
and “gay with so many brilliant colors, -and, | |
while the artists imagine the work arrived at | |
the moment of completion, brushes away the | |
beautiful web, and leaves nothing behind.— | |
Dwight. | |
How disappointment tracks the steps of | |
hope! —Afiss Landon. | |
He that will do no good offices after a disap- | |
pointment must stand still, and do just nothing: | |
at all. The plough goes on after a barren | |
year; and while the ashes. are yet warm, we | |
raise a new house upon the ruins of a former.— | |
, Seneca. | |
Bearing a life-long hunger in his heart.— | |
Tennyson. | |
It is generally known that he who-expeets | |
much will be often disappointed ; yet disappoint- | |
ment seldom enres us of expectation, or has any | |
other effect than that.of producing’ a moral sén- | |
tence or peevish exelamation.—Johngon: | |
Life: is-as tedions as-a twice-told tale, vex- | |
ing the dull car of a drowsy man.—Shakespeare. | |
In the light of eternity we shall sec that | |
what we desired would have ‘been fatal to us, | |
and that what we would have avoided was | |
essential to our well-being.—/enelon. | |
When we: mect with better fare than was | |
expected, the disappointment is overlooked even | |
by thé scrupulous. When we meet with worse | |
than was expected, philosuphers alone know | |
how to make it better—Zimmermann. | |
Man must be disappointed with the lesser | |
things of life hefore he can comprehend the fall | |
value of the greater. —Bulwer Lytton. | |
It is folly to pretend that one ever wholly | |
recovers from ‘a: disappointed passion. Sneh | |
wounds always leave a scar. There are faces | |
I can never look upon without emotion, there | |
are names I can never hear spoken without | |
almost starting. —Longfellow. | |
Mean spirits under disappointment, like | |
small beer in a thunder-storm, always turn | |
sonr.—Randolph. | |
An old man once said, “ When I was yonng I | |
was poor; when old I became rich; but in each | |
condition I found disappointment. When the | |
faculties of enjoyment were, I had not the | |
means; when the means came, the faeulties | |
were ‘gone.”—-Jfiudame de Gusparin. | |
Thus ever fade my fairy dreams of bliss.— | |
Byron. | |
It is sometimes of God’s mercy that men in | |
the eager pursuit of worldly aggrandizement | |
are bafiled ; for they are very like a train going | |
down an inclined plane, — putting on the brake | |
is not pleasant, but it keeps the car on the | |
track.— Beecher. ' | |
It never yet happened to any man since the | |
beginning of the world, nor ever will, to have | |
all things according to his. desire, or to whom | |
fortune was never opposite and adverse.— | |
. Burton. | |
We mount to heaven mostly on the ruins of | |
our cherished schemes, ftuding our failures were | |
suecesses.— Alcott. | |
DISCERNMENT. | |
To sueeced in the world, it is'much more | |
necessary to possess the penetration to discern | |
who is a fool than to discover who is a clever | |
man.— Talleyrand. | |
After a spirit of discernment the next rarest | |
things in the world are‘diamonds and pearls.— | |
Bruyére. | |
Simple ereatnres, whose thoughts are not | |
taken np, like those of educated people, with | |
the care of a great muserm of dead phrases, are | |
very quick to sce the live facts which are going | |
on about them.—ZZolmes. | |
The idiot, the’ Indian, -the child, and un- | |
schooled farmer’s boy stand nearer to the light | |
‘by which nature is to be read, than the dissector | |
or the antiquary.—Lmerson. | |
--- Chunk 2, Page 46 --- | |
DISCIPLINE. | |
128 | |
DISCRETION. | |
There seems to be no part of knowledge in | |
fewer hands than that of discerning when to | |
have done.—Swijt. | |
DISCIPLINE. | |
Has it never occurred to ns, when sur- | |
rounded by sorrows, that they may be sent to | |
us only for our instruction, as we darken the | |
cages of birds when we wish to teach them to | |
sing ? —Jtichter. | |
No evil propensity of the human heart is so | |
powerful that it may not be subdued by disci- | |
pline.—Seneca. | |
The heart must be divorced from its idols. | |
Age does a great deal in curing the man of his | |
frenzy ; but if God has a special work for a man, | |
he takes a shorter and sharper course with him. | |
This grievons loss is only a further and more | |
expensive education for the work of the minis- | |
try; it is but saying more closely, “ Will you | |
pay the price ?””— Cecil. | |
+. : \ | |
No pain, no palm; no thorns, no throne; | |
no gall, no glory ; no cross, no crown.— | |
William Penn. | |
A dull axe never loves grindstones, but a | | |
keen workman does; and he puts his tool on | |
them in order that it may be sharp. And men | |
do not like grinding; but they are dull for the | |
purposes which God designs to work out with | |
them, and therefore he is grinding them.— | |
Beecher. | |
A stern discipline pervades all nature, which | |
is a little cruel that it may be very kind. — | |
Spenser. | |
We have all to be laid upon an’ altar; we | |
have all, as it were, to be subjected to the action | |
of fire —G. J. W. Alelville. | |
DISCONTENT. | |
That which makes. people dissatisfied with | |
their condition is the chimerical idea they form | |
of the happiness of others.— Thomson. | |
What is more miserable than discontent ?— | |
Shakespeare. | |
Discontents are sometimes the better part | |
DISCRETION, | |
The greatest parts, without discretion, as | |
observed by an elegant writer, may be fatal to | |
their owner; as Polyphemns, deprived of his | |
eyes, was only the more exposed on account of | |
his enormous strength and stature.—lddison. | |
The better part of valor is discretion.— | |
Shakespeare. | |
Jest not openly at those that are simple, but | |
remember how much thou art-bound to God, | |
who hath made thee wiser. Defame not any . | |
woman publicly, though thon know her to be | |
evil ; ‘for those that are faulty cannot endnre to | |
j,be taxed, but will seek to be avenged of thee ; | |
and those that are not guilty cannot endure | |
unjust reproach.—Sir Walter Raleigh. | |
All persons.are not discreet enough to know | |
how to take things by the right handle.— | |
Cervantes. | |
Without discretion, people may be overlaid | |
with unreasonable affection, and choked with | |
H too much nourishment.—Jeremy ‘Collier. | |
| Diseretion in speech is more than eloquence. | |
Bacon. | |
i Discretion is the perfection of reason, and a | |
guide to us in all the duties of life; cunning is | |
a kind of instinct, that only looks out after | |
our immediate interests and welfare. Discre- | |
tion is only found in men of strong sense and | |
good understanding; cunning is often to be | |
met with in brutes themselves, and in persons | |
; who are but the fewest removes from them.— | |
| Bruyére. | |
Diseretion is the salt, and fancy the sugar of | |
life ; the one preserves, the other sweetens it.— | |
Bovee. | |
There are many more shining qualities in | |
the mind of man, but there are none so useful | |
as discretion.—Addison. | |
In a state where discretion begins, law, | |
liberty, and safety end.—Junius. | |
There is no talent so useful towards rising | |
in the world, or which puts men more out of the | |
of our life. I know not well which is the most' power of fortune, than that quality generally | |
useful; joy I may choose for pleasure, but ad- | possessed by the dullest sort of men, and in | |
yersities are the best for profit; and sometimes , common speech called “ discretion,” — a species | |
those do so far help me, as I should, without of lower prudence, by the assistance of which | |
them, want much of the joy I have-—-Feltham. 'people.of the meanest intellectuals pass through | |
thé world in great tranquillity, neither giving | |
DISCOVERY. (nor taking offence. For want of a reasonable | |
It is a mortifying truth, and ought to teach infusion of this aldermanty discretion, every- | |
the wisest of us humility, that many of the most. thing fails. Had Windham possessed discretion | |
valuable discoveries have been the result of in debate, or Sheridan in conduct, they might | |
chance rather than of contemplation, and of, have ruled their age —Swift. | |
accident rather than of design.— Colton. | |
Ifa cause be good, the most violent attack | |
inexhaustible source, of its enemies will not injure it so much as an | |
| injudieious defence of it by its friends.— Colton. | |
A new principle is an | |
of new views.— Vauvenargues. | |
--- Chunk 2, Page 47 --- | |
DISEASE. 1 | |
9 DISTINCTION: | |
Tf thou art a master, be sometimes blind ; if | | |
a servant, soinctimes deafi—/"udler. | |
Never join with your friend when he abuses | |
his horse or his wife, unless the one is about te be | |
sold, and the other to be buried.— Colton. | |
DISEASE. | |
Diseases, desperate grown, by desperate ap-; | |
pliance are relieved, or not at nll—Shakespeare. | |
DISGUISE. | |
Men would not live long in society, were | |
they not the mutual dupes of each other.— | |
Rochefoucauld, | |
Were we to take as much pains to be what | |
we ought to be as we do to disguise what we | |
really are, we might appear like onrselves | |
without being at rhe trouble of ‘any disguise at | |
all.—Rochefoucauld. | |
DISHONESTY. - | |
Dishonesty is a forsaking of permanent for | |
temporary advantages.— Bovee. | |
I have known a yast quantity of nonsense | |
talked abont bad men not looking yon in the | |
face. Don’t trust that conventional idea. Dis- | |
honesty will stare honesty out of countenance | |
any day in the week, if there is‘anything to be | |
gat by it.—Dickens. | |
Dishonest men conceal their faults from | |
themselves as Well as others; honest men know | |
aud confess them.—Rochkefoucauld. | |
nan | |
Who purposely cheats his friend would | |
cheat his God.—Lavater. | |
That which is won ill will never wear well, | |
for there is a curse attends it, which will waste | |
it; and the same corrupt dispositions which | |
inctine men.to the sinful ways of getting’ will | |
iucline them to the tike sinful ways of spend- | |
ing.—Matthew Henry. | |
Dishonor waits on perfidy, A man should | |
bhish to think a ‘falsehood; icis the crime of | |
cowards.— Johnson. | |
Tf you attempt to beat a man down and to | |
get his goods for less than a fair price, you are | |
attempting, to commit burglary, as muchas | |
though you broke into his shop to take the things | |
withont paying for them. There is cheating on | |
both sides of the connter, and generally less be- | |
hind it than before it.—Beecher, | |
It is hard to say which of the two we onght | |
most to lament, — the unhappy man who sinks | |
under the sense of his dishonor, or him who | |
survives it.—Junius. | |
DISPLAY. | |
They that govern most make least noise.— | |
Selden. | |
The lowest people are generally the first to | |
find fault with show or equipage; especially | |
that of 4 person lately emerged from his obscur- | |
ity. They never once consider that le is break- | |
ing the ice for themselves. —Sheustuie. | |
The horses which make the most show arc, | |
in general, those which-advance the least. It is | |
the same with men; and we-ought not to con- | |
found that perpetual agitation which exhausts | |
itself in vain etlorts, with the activity which | |
goes right to the end.—Baron de Stassurt. | |
DISPUTE. | |
The more discussion the better, if passion | |
and personality he eschewed ; “and discussion, | |
even if stormy, often winnows truth from | |
error, —a good never to be expeeted in an un- | |
inquiring age.— Channing. | |
There is no dispute managed without pas- | |
sion, and yet there is scarce a dispute worth a | |
passion.—Sherlock. | |
The pain of dispute exceeds by much its | |
utility. AH disputation makes the mind deat; | |
and when people are deaf I am dumb.—/oubert. | |
It is true there is nothing displays a genius, | |
I mean a quickness of genius, more than a dis- | |
pute; as two diamonds, encountering, contrib- | |
ute to each other’s lustre, But perhaps the | |
odds is mnch against’ the man of taste in this | |
particular.— Shenstone. | |
DISSIMULATION. | |
Dissimulation is but a faint kind of policy ; | |
for it asketh a strong wit and a strung heart, | |
to know when to tell the truth and to do it.— | |
Bacon. | |
Dissimulation in yonth is the forerunner of | |
perfidy in old age; its first appearance is the | |
fatal omen of growing depravity and future | |
shame. It degrartes parts and learning, ob- | |
seures the Instre of every accomplishment, and | |
sinks us into contempt. The path of false- | |
hood is a perplexing maze, After the first de- | |
parture from sincerity, it ix not in our power | |
to stop; one artifice unavoidably leads on to | |
another, till, as the intricaey of the labyrinth | |
increases, we are left entangled in onr snare.— | |
Blair. | |
He who knows not how. to dissimulate knows | |
not how to rule.—Aetellus of Macedon. | |
The harlot’s cheek, beantied with plaster- | |
ing art, is not more ugly to the thing that helpa | |
it than is my deed to my most painted word.— | |
Shakespeare. | |
DISTINCTION. - | |
All our distinctions are accidental ; beauty | |
and deformity, thongh personal qualities, are | |
neither entitled to praise nor censure; yet it so | |
happens that they color our opinion of those | |
qualitics to which mankind have attached re- | |
sponsibility.— Zimmermann. | |
--- Chunk 2, Page 48 --- | |
DISTRUST. | |
Distinction, with a broad and powerful fan, | |
puffing at all, winnows the light away.— | |
Shakespeare. | |
All that causes one man to differ from | |
another is a very slight thing, What is it that | |
jis the origin of beauty or ugliness, health or | |
weakness, ability or stupidity? A slight differ- | |
ence in the organs, a little more or a little less | |
bile. Yet this more or less is of infinite impor- | |
tance to men;‘and when they think otherwise | |
they are mistaken.— Vauvenargues. | |
DISTRUST. | |
The best use one can make of his mind is to | |
distrust it.—/enelon. | |
Nothing is more certain of destroying any | |
good feeling that may be cherished towards us | |
than to show distrust. To be suspected as an | |
enemy is often enough to make aman become | |
so; the whole matter is over, there is no farther | |
use of guarding against it. On the contrary, | |
confidence leads us naturally to act kindly, we | |
are affected by the good opinion which others | |
entertain of us, and we are not easily induced | |
to los¢ it—Afadame de Sévigné. | |
In distrust are the nerves of the mind.— | |
Demosthenes. | |
Excessive distrust is not less hurtful than its | |
opposite. Most men become useless to hin who | |
is unwilling to risk being deecived.— | |
Vauvenargues. | |
This fecling of distrust is always the last | |
which a great mind acquires ; he is deceived for | |
a long time.—Racine. | |
A certain amount of distrnst is wholesome, | |
but not so much of others as of ourselves; | |
neither vanity nor conceit can exist in the same | |
atmosphere with it—fadame Necker. | |
DOCTRINE. | |
Every one cleaves to the doetrine he has | |
happened upon, as to a rock against which he | |
has been thrown by tempest.—Cicero. | |
_As those wines which flow from the first | |
treading of the grape are sweeter and better | |
tban those forced ont by the press, which gives | |
them the roughness of the husk and the stone, | |
so are those doctrines best and sweetest which | |
flow from a gentle ernsh of the Scriptures,-and | |
are not wrung into controversics and common- | |
places, Bacon. | |
Doctrine is nothing but the skin of truth | |
set up and stufted.— Beecher. | |
The question is not whether a doctrine is | |
beautiful, but whether it is true. When we | |
want to go to a place, we don’t ask whether the | |
road leads through a pretty country, but wheth- | |
er it is the right road, the road pointed out by | |
authority, the turnpike-road.— Hare. | |
130 | |
DOUBT. | |
DOGMATISM. | |
Nothing can be more unphilosophical than | |
to be positive or dogmatical on any subject ; | |
and evenaf excessive scepticism could be main- | |
tained, it would not be more destructive to all | |
just reasoning and inquiry. When men are | |
the most sure and ‘arrogant, they‘are commonly | |
the most mistaken, and have there given reins | |
to passion, without that proper deliberation and | |
suspense which can Alone secure them from the | |
grossest absurdities— Hume. | |
A dogmatical spirit inclines a man to be | |
censorious of his neighbors. Every one of' his | |
opinions appears to him written, as it were, with | |
sunbeams, and he grows angry that his neigh- | |
bors do not see it in the same light. He is | |
tempted to disdain his correspondents as men | |
of low and dark understandings because they | |
do not believe what he does.— Watts. | |
DOMESTIC. | |
The domestic man, who loves no music so | |
well as his kitchen clock, and the airs which | |
.the logs sing to him as they burn on the hearth, | |
has solaces which others never dream of-— | |
- Emerson, | |
_ Domestic worth, — that shuns too strong a | |
light.—Zord Lyttelton. | |
Domestic happiness is the end of almost all | |
our pursuits, and the common reward of all our | |
pains. When men find themselves forever | |
barred from this delightful fruition, they are | |
lost to all industry, and grow careless of all their | |
worldly affairs. ‘Thus they become bad subjects, | |
bad relations, bad friends, ahd bad men.— | |
Fielding. | |
A prince wants only the pleasure of private | |
life to complete his happiness.—Bruyere. | |
Our notion of the perfect society embraces | |
the family as its centre and ornament. Nor is | |
there a paradise planted till the children ap- | |
pear in the foregronnd to animate and complete | |
the picture.— Alcott. | |
Domestic happiness, thou only bliss of par- | |
adise that has survived the fall! —Cowper. | |
A house kept to the end of prudence is la- | |
borions without joy ; a house kept to the end of | |
display is impossible to‘@all but a few women, | |
and their snecess is dearly bought.—£merson. | |
No money is better spent than what is laid | |
ont for domestic satisfaction. A man is pleased | |
that his wife is dressed as well as other people, and | |
the wife is pleased that she is dressed.—.Johnson. | |
DOUBT. | |
Man was not made to question, but adore — | |
Young. | |
Human knowledge is the parent of doubt.— | |
Lord Greville. | |
--- Chunk 2, Page 49 --- | |
DOUBT. | |
Onur doubts are traitors, and make us lose the | |
good ‘we oft might win, by fearing to attcinpt.— | |
Shakespeare. | |
Can that which is the greatest virtue in | |
philosophy, doubt (called hy Galilvo the father | |
ot invention), be in religion, what the priests | |
tern it, the greatest of sins ? —Boree. | |
Doubt is the vestibule which all must pass, | |
hefore they can enter into the temple of wis- | |
dom; therefore, when We are in doubt and | |
puzzle out the truth by our own exertions, we | |
have gained a something that will stay by us, | |
and which will serve us again. . But, if to | |
avoid the trouble of the search, we avail our- | |
selves of the superior information of a friend, | |
such knowledge will not remain with us; we | |
have not bought, but borrowed it.— Colton. | |
Servile doubt argues an impotence of mind, | |
that says we fear because we dare not mect | |
inisfortunes.—Alaron Hill, | |
When you doubt, abstain.—Zoroaster. | |
In contemplation, if a man begin with cer- | |
tainties, he shall end in doubts; but if he will | |
be content to begin with doubts, he shall end in | |
certainties.— Bacon. | |
We know ‘aceurately only when we know | |
little ; with knowledge doubt increases,— | |
Goethe. | |
To be once in doubt is once to be resolved.— | |
‘ Shakespeare. | |
A bitter and perplexed “ What shall Ido?” | |
is worse to man than worse necessity.— | |
: Coleridge. | |
The wound of pence is surety, surety secure ; | |
bnt modest doubt is called the beacon of the | |
wise; the tent that searches to the bottom of | |
the worst.— Shakespeare. | |
Tlove sometimes to doubt, as well as know.— | |
Dante. | |
There is no weariness like that which rises | |
from doubting, from the perpetual jogging of | |
unfixed reason, The torment of suspense is | |
yery reat; and as soon as the wavering, per- | |
plexed mind begins to deterniine, be the deter- | |
mination which way soever, it will find itself at | |
case. — South. | |
Misgive that you may not mistake.— | |
Whately. | |
Weary the path that docs not challenge rea- | |
son. Doubt is an incentive to truth, and patient | |
inquiry leadeth the way.— Zosea Ballou. | |
Who never doubted never half believed ; | |
where doubt there truth is, — it is her shadow.— | |
Bailey. | |
DREAMS. | |
DRAMA, | |
It is remarkable how virtnous “and. gener- | |
ously disposed every one is at a play, We | |
uniformly applaud what is right, and condemn | |
what is wrong, when it costs us nothing but the | |
sentiment.—/fazlitt. | |
The real object of the drama is the exhibi- | |
tion of the human character.—.Mucaulay. | |
The drama embraces and applies all the | |
heanties and decorations of poetry. The sister | |
arts attend and adorn it. Painting, architec | |
tire, and musie ure her handmaids. The cost- | |
liest lights of a people’s intelleet* burn at her | |
show. All ages welcome her.— }illmott. | |
The seat of wit, when one speaks as a man | |
of the town and the world, is the playhonse.— | |
Stecle. | |
Every movement of the theatre by a skilful | |
poct is communicated, as it were, by magic to | |
the spectators; who weep, tremble, resent, re- | |
joice, and are inflamed with all the variety of | |
passions which actuate the several personages | |
of the drama.—LZume. | |
The drama is the book of the people.— | |
Wulmott. | |
There is so much of the glare and grief of | |
life connected with the stage, that it fills me | |
with most solemn thoughts.—Heary Gdes. | |
DREAMS. | |
When monarch reason sleeps, this mimie | |
wakes.—Dryden. | |
As dreams are the fancies of those that | |
sleep, so fancies are but the dreams of those | |
awake.—Gir T. P. Blount. | |
Dreaming is an act of pure imagination, | |
attesting in all men a creative power which, if | |
it were available in waking, would_make every | |
man a Dante or a Shakespeare.—F. H. Hedge. | |
Let not our babbling dreams -affright our | |
souls.— Shakespeare. | |
Dreams in their development have breath | |
and tears and tortures, and the tonch of joy; | |
they leave a weight upon our waking thonghts, | |
they, take. a weight from off our waking toils, | |
they do divide our being ; they become a. por- | |
tion of ourselves -as of our time, and look Vike | |
heralds of cternity.— Byron. | |
We are near waking when we dream that | |
we dream.—Vovalis. | |
Dreams are the bright creatures of poem and | |
legend,-yvho sport on the-earth in the" night | |
scason, and melt away with ‘the first beam of | |
the sun, which lights grim care and stern reality | |
on their daily pilgrimage through the world.— | |
Dickens. | |
--- Chunk 2, Page 50 --- | |
DRESS. | |
ey | |
we | |
DRESS. | |
Dreams full oft are found of real events the | |
forms and shadows.—Joanna: Baillie. | |
Dreams are the children of an idle brain | |
begot of nothing but vain fantasy ; which is as | |
thin of substance as the air,-and more ineonstant | |
than the wind.— Shakespeare. | |
Regard not dreams, since they are but the | |
images of our hopes and fears.— Cato. | |
Nothing so mich convinces me of the bound- | |
lessness of the human mind as its operations in | |
dreaming. — IV". B. Cludow. | |
The dreamer is a madman quiesrent, the | |
madman is a dreamer in action.—/°. Lf. Hedge. | |
If we can sleep without dreaming, it is well | |
that painful dreams are avoided. Tf, while we | |
sleep, we can have any pleasing dreams, it is, | |
as the French say, fant gagné, so mach added | |
to the pleasure of lite —Zranklia, | |
As a wild maiden, with love-drinking eyes, | |
sees in sweet dreams a beaming vouth of glory. | |
alexander Smith. | |
Metaphysicians have been learning their les- | |
son for the last four thonsand years, and it is | |
high time that they should now begin to teach | |
us Something. Can any of the tribe inform us | |
why all the operations of the mind are carried | |
on with undiminished strength and activity in! | |
dreams, except the judgment, which alone is} | |
suspended and dormant ! — Colton. | |
Every one turns his dreams into realities as | |
far as he ean; man is cold as ice to the truth, | |
hot as fire to falsehood.—La Fontaine. | |
Dreams are like portraits; and we find they | |
please because they are confessed resemblances. | |
Crabbe. | |
What the tender and poetic yonth dreams; | |
to-day, and conjures up with inarticulate specch, ; | |
is to-morrow the ‘vociferated result of public | |
opinion, aud the day after is the character of | |
nations.—Emerson. | |
Dreams where thought, in fancy’s maze, | |
runs mad.— Young. | |
DRESS. | |
Nothing can embellish a beautiful face more | |
than a narrow band that indicates a small | |
wound drawn crosswise over the brow.— | |
Richter. | |
The only medicine which docs women more | |
good than harm is dress.—Riclter | |
Those who think that in order to dress well | |
it is nceessary to dress extravagantly or grand- | |
ly make/a great mistake. Nothing so well be- | |
comes trne feminine beauty as simplicity.— | |
George D. Prentice. | |
Eat to please thyself, but dress to please | |
others. — Franklin. | |
In Athens the ladies were not gaudily but | |
simply arrayed, and we doubt whethér any | |
ladies ever excited more admiration. So also | |
the noble old Roman matrons, whose superb | |
forms were gazed on delightedly by men worthy | |
of them, were always very plainly dressed.— | |
George D. Prentice. | |
There can be no kernel in this light nut ; | |
the soul of this man is in his clothes. | |
Shakespeare. | |
Next to clothes being fine, they should be | |
well made, and worn casily; for a man fs only | |
the less genteel for a fine coat, if, in wearing it, | |
he shows:a regard for it, and fs not as easy in if | |
as if it was a plain one.—Chesterfield. | |
In the matter of dress one should always | |
keep below one’s ability.—A/ontesquien. | |
Costly thy habit as thy purse can buy, but | |
not expressed in fancy; rich, not gaudy; for the | |
apparel oft proclaims the man.— Shakespeare. | |
Next to dressing for 9 rout or ball, undress- | |
ing is a woe.— Byron. | |
No man ever stood lower in my estimation | |
for having a patch in his clothes; yet I am sure | |
there is greater anxiety to have fashionable, or | |
rat least clean and unpatched clothes, than to | |
have.a sound conscience. I sometimes try my | |
acquaintanees by some such test as this, — who | |
could wear a patch, or two extra seams only, | |
over the knee.— Thoreau. | |
A saint in erape is twiee a saint in lawn.— | |
Pope. | |
Dress has a moral effect upon the conduct of | |
mankind, Let any gentleman find himself with | |
dirty boots, old surtout, soiled neckcloth, and a | |
general negligence of dress, and he will in-all | |
probability find a corresponding: disposition by | |
negligence of address.— Sir Jonak Barrington. | |
The plainer the dress, with greater lustre | |
does beauty appear. Virtue is the greatest or- | |
nament, and good sense the best equipage.— | |
Lord fl alifax. | |
Beanty gains little, and homeliness-and de- | |
formity lose much, by gandy attire. Lysander | |
knew this was in part true, and refused the rich | |
garments that the tyrant Dionysius proffered to | |
his danghters, saying “ that they were fit only | |
to make unhappy faces more remarkable.” — | |
Zimmermann, | |
Throngh tattered clothes small vices do ap- | |
pear; robes-and furred gowns hide all. Plate | |
sin with gold, and the strong tance of justice | |
hurtless breaks ; arm it in rags, a pygmy’s straw | |
doth pierce it. Shakespeare. | |
--- Chunk 2, Page 51 --- | |
DRESS. 1 | |
3 DRESS. | |
We sacrifice to dress till household joys and | |
comforts ecase. Dress drains our cellar dry, | |
and keeps our larder Iean.— Cowper, | |
Tt is not ever~ man that can afford to wear | |
a shabby coat; and worldly wisdom dictates to’ | |
her disciples the propricty of dressing: somewhat | |
beyond theiy means, but of living within them ; | |
for every one Sees how we dress, but none see | |
how we live, except we choose to let them.— | |
Colton. | |
A fine coat is but a‘ livery when the person | |
who wears it discovers no higher sense than | |
that of a footman.—tddisoa. | |
A lady of genins.will give a genteel air t | |
her whole dress by a well-fancied Snit- of knot: | |
as a judicious writer gives a spirit to a whole | |
sentence by a single expression.— Gay. | |
Women always show more taste in-adorning’ | |
others than themselves ; and the reason is, that | |
their persons are like their hearts, ~ they réad | |
another's better than they can their own.— | |
_ Richter. | |
In elothes clean and fresh there is a kind of | |
youth with which age should surround itself.— | |
Joubert. | |
‘ | |
As the index tells us the contents of stories, | |
and directs to the partienlar chapter, even so | |
does the outward habit and superficial order of | |
garments (in man dr woman) give us a: taste | |
of the spirit, and demonstratively point (as it | |
were a mannal note from the margin) all the | |
internal quality of the son]; and there cannot | |
be a more evident, palpable, gross manifestatiun | |
of poor, degenerate, dunghilly blood and breed- | |
ing than a rude, unpolished, disordered, and | |
slovenly outside.—.Massinger. | |
And why take ye thought for raiment? | |
Confider the lilics of the field, how they grow ; | |
they toi] not, neither do they spin.— Bible. | |
Processions, cavaleades, and all that fund of | |
gay frippery, furnished out by tailors, barbers, | |
and tire-vomen, mechanically influence the mind | |
into veneration ; an emperor in his nightcap | |
wonld not meet with half the respect of an em- | |
peror with a crown.— Goldsmith. | |
As you treat your body, so your house, your | |
domestics, your enemies, your friends. Dress | |
is a table of your contents.—Lavater. | |
Those who are ineapable of shining but by | |
dress would do well to consider that the con- | |
trast betwixt them and their clothes turns ont | |
much to their disadvantage. It is on this ac- | |
eonnt I have sametiines observed with pleasure | |
sore nobleinen of immense fortune to dress ex- | |
ceeding plain.— Shenstone. | |
No man is esteemed for gay garments but | |
by fools and women.—Sir Walter Raleigh. | |
Men of quality never-appear more amiable | |
than when their dress is plain. Their birth, rank, | |
title, and its appendages are at best invidious ; | |
and‘as they do not need the : ance of dress, so, | |
.by their disclaiming the advantage of it, they | |
‘inake their superiority sit more casy.— | |
Shenstone. | |
The vanity of loving fine clothes and new | |
fashions, and valning ourselves by them, iS one | |
of the most childish pieces of folly that ean be.— | |
Sir Matthew Lale. | |
I would rather have a young fellow too | |
much than too little dressed ; the excess on that | |
side will wear off, with, a little age and reflec- | |
tion; but if he is negligent at twenty, he will be | |
a sloven at forty, and stink at fifty years’ old. | |
Dress yourself fine where others are fine, and | |
plain where others are plain; but take care | |
| always that your clothes are well made and fit | |
you, for otherwise they will give you a very | |
awkward air.— Chestersield. | |
Out of clothes out of countenance, out of | |
countenance out of wit.—Ben Jonson. | |
A simple garb is the proper costume of the | |
yulgar ; it is ent for them, and exactly suits | |
their measure; but it is an ornament for those | |
who have filled up their life with great deeds: | |
Iliken them to beauty in dishabille, but more | |
bewitching on that account.—Bruyére. . | |
Be neither too carly in the fashion, nor too | |
long out of it, nor too precisely in it; what cus- | |
tom hath civilized is become decent, till then | |
ridiculous ; where the eye is the jury, thy appar- | |
el is the evidence.— Quarles. | |
| | |
{, As long as there are cold and nakedness in | |
the land around vou, so long can there be no | |
question at all bnt that splendor of dress is a | |
lerime. In dne time, when we have nothing | |
better to set people to work at, it may be right | |
to let them make lace and cnt jewels; but as | |
long as there are any who have no blankets for | |
their beds, and no rags for their bodies, so long | |
it is blanket-making and tailoring we must set | |
people to work at, not lace.—Ruskin, | |
Too great carelessness, equally with exeess | |
in dr multiplies the wrinkles of old age, and | |
makes its decay the more conspienous.—Druyére. | |
All costume off a man is pitiful or grotesque. | |
It is only the serions eye peering from and the | |
sincere life passed within it, which restrain | |
langhter and consecrate the costuine of any peo- | |
ple. Let Harlequin be taken with a fit of the | |
colic, and his trappings will hgve to serve that | |
mood too. When the soldier is hit by ‘9 can- | |
non-ball rags aré as becoming as purple.— | |
Thoreau. | |
In the indications of female poverty there | |
ean be no disguise. No woman dresses below | |
herself from caprice.—Lamb. | |
--- Chunk 2, Page 52 --- | |
DRUNKENNESS. | |
134 | |
DRUNKENNESS. | |
It is the saying of an old divine, “ Two things | |
in my apparel I will chiefly aim at, —commodi- | |
ousuess and decency; more than these is not | |
commendable, yet I hate an effeminate spruce- | |
ness as much as a fantastic disorder. <A neg- | |
lected comeliness is the best ornament.” It is | |
said of the celebrated Mr. Whitfield, that he al- | |
ways swas very clean and neat, and often said | |
pleasautly ‘ that a minister of the gospel ouglit | |
to be without a spot.”—J/. Beaumont. | |
Rich apparel has strange virtues; it makes | |
him that hath it without means esteemed for an | |
excellent wit; he that enjoys it with means puts | |
the world in remembrance of his means.— | |
Ben Jonson. | |
The person whose clothes are extremely fine | |
{am too apt to consider as not being possessed | |
of any superiority of fortune, but resembling | |
those Indians who are found to-wear all the | |
gold they have in the world in.a bob at the | |
nose.— Goldsmith. | |
A rich dress adds but little to the beauty of | |
a person. It may possibly create a deference, | |
but that is rather an enemy to love.—Shenstone. | |
I have always a saered veneration for‘any | |
one I observe to be‘a little ont of repair in his | |
person, as supposing him either a poct or .a | |
philosopher; because the richest minerals are | |
ever found under the most ragged and withered | |
surfaces of the earth — Siz. | |
* A gentleman’s taste in dress is, upon princi- | |
ple, the avoidance of all things extravagant. It | |
consists in the quiet simplicity of exquisite neat- | |
ness; but, as the neatuess must be a neatness in | |
fashion, employ the best tailor; pay him ready | |
money, and, on the whole, you will tind him the | |
cheapest.— Bulwer Lytton. | |
DRUNKENNESS. | |
All excess is ill, but drunkenness is of the | |
worst sort. It spoils health, dismounts the | |
mind, and unmans mien. It reveals secrets, is | |
quarrelsome, lascivious, impudent, dangerous, | |
and mad. He that is drunk is not a man, | |
because he is, for so long, void of reason that | |
distinguishes a-man from a beast.— | |
William Penn. | |
Drunkenness is nothing else but a voluntary | |
madness.— Seneca. | |
Man has evil as well as good qualities pecu- | |
liar to himself. Drnnkenness places him as | |
much below the level of the brutes as reason | |
elevates him above them.—Sir G. Sinclair. | |
Beware of drunkenness, lest all good men | |
beware of thee; where drunkenness reigns, | |
there reason is an exile, virtue a stranger, God | |
an enemy; blasphemy is wit, oaths are rhet- | |
orie, and seerets are proclamations. Noah dis- | |
covered that in one hour, drunk, which, sober, | |
he kept secret six hundred years.— Quarles. | |
A drunken man is likesa drowned man, a | |
fool, and a madman; one draught above heat | |
makes him a fool, the second mads him, and a | |
third drowns him.—Shakespeare. | |
Some of the domestic evils of drunkenness | |
are houses without windows, gardens withont | |
i fences, fields without tillage, barns without | |
roofs, children without clothing, principles, | |
morals, or manners.—FranMin. | |
In the bottle discontent seeks for comfort, | |
; cowardice for courage, and bashfulness for con- | |
fidence.—Johnson. | |
Drunkenness is the vice of a good constitu- | |
tion or of a bad memory, — ofa constitution so | |
treacherously good -that it never bends till it | |
i breaks; or of a memory that recollects the | |
jpleasures of getting intoxicated, bat forgets the | |
| pains of getting sober.—Colton. | |
Habitual intoxication is the epitome of every | |
crime.—Douglas Jerrold. | |
Drunkenness is a flattering devil, a sweet | |
i poison, a pleasant sin, which whosoever hath | |
thath not himself; which whosoever doth com- | |
mit doth not commit sin, but he himself is | |
wholly sin.—St. Augustine. | |
Troops of furies march in the drunkard’s | |
triumph.—Zimmermann. | |
The bliss of the drunkard is a visible picture | |
of the expectation of the dying atheist, who | |
hopes uo more than to lic down in the grave | |
with the “beasts that perish.” —Jane Porter. | |
A vine bears three grapes, —the first of | |
pleasure, the second of drunkenness, and the | |
third of repentance.—Anacharsis. | |
People say, “Do not regard “what he says | |
now he is in liqnor.” Perhaps it is the only | |
time he onght to be regarded: Aperit precordia | |
liber — Shenstone. | |
Of all vices take heed of drunkenness ; other | |
vices are but fruits of disordered affections, — this | |
disorders, nay, banishes reason ; other vices but | |
impair the soul, — this demolishes her two chief | |
faeulties, the‘understanding and the will; other | |
yiees make their own way, — this makes way for | |
all vices ; he that is:a drunkard is qualified for | |
all vice.— Quarles. | |
Thirst teaches all animals to drink, but | |
drunkenness belongs only to man.—Fielding. | |
They were red-hot with drinking ; so full of | |
valor, that they smote the air for breathing in | |
their faces, beat the ground for kissing of their | |
feet.— Shakespeare. | |
There is scarcely « crime before me that is | |
not, directly or indirectly, cansed by strong | |
drink.— Judge Coleridge. | |
--- Chunk 2, Page 53 --- | |
DUELS. | |
135 | |
DOTY. | |
Those men who destroy a healthful constitn- | |
tion of body by intemperance wid an irregwar | |
tite do as manitestly kil} themselves as those | |
who hang or poison or drown themselves.— | |
Sherlock. | |
The sight of a-drunkard is a. better sermon | |
against that vice than the best that was ever | |
preached upon that subject. —Sarille. | |
If the headache should come before drumk- | |
enness, we should have a care of drinking too | |
much; but Pleasure, to deceive us, imiurches | |
before,.and conceals her train.—Jlontuigne. | |
DUELS. | |
Tf all seconds were as averse to duels as | |
their principals, very little blood would be shed | |
in that way.— Colton. | |
With respect to duels, indeed, I have my | |
own ideas. Few things in this so surprising | |
world strike me with more sn Two ht | |
tle visual spectra of nen, hovering with inseenre | |
enough cohesion in the midst of the unfathoma- | |
bic, and to dissolve therein, at any rate, very | |
soon, make pause at the distance of twelve paces | |
asunder, whirl around, and simultanconsly, by | |
the cunningest mechanism, explode one another | |
into dissolution ; and, offhand, become air, and | |
non-extant, — the little spitfires !— Carlyle. | |
Since bodily strength is but a servant to the | |
mind, it were very barbarous and preposterous | |
that force shonld be made judge over reason. — | |
Sir P. Sidney. | |
Dnelting, though harbarons in civilized, is a | |
highly civilized institution among barbarous | |
people ; and when compared to assassination, | |
is a_prodivions victory gained over human pas- | |
sions.— Sydney Sinith. | |
DULNESS. | |
What a comfort a dull bnt kindly person is, | |
.to be sure, at times! A ground-glass shade over | |
a gas-lamp does not bring more solace to our | |
dazzled eyes than such a one to our minds.— | |
FTolmes. | |
There are some heads which have no win- | |
dows, and the day can never strike from above ; | |
nothing enters from heavenward.—Joubert. | |
A dull man is so near a dead man that he | |
is hardly to be ranked in the list of the living; | |
and_as he is not to be buried whilst he is half | |
alive, so he is as little to be employed whilst he | |
is half dead.—Suville. | |
DUTY. 7 | |
The true way fo render ourselves happy is | |
to love our duty and tind in it onr pledisure.— | |
Madame de Aotteville. | |
Let men Jangh when yon sacrifice desire to | |
duty, if they will, You have time and eternity | |
to rejoice in.— Theodore Parker. | |
Amid all our ignorance and weakness what | |
we best know is our duty— SVhately. | |
There is little pleasure in the world chat is | |
true and sincere besides the pleasure of doing | |
our duty and doing good. Jam sure ne other | |
is vomparable to this.—7ilotson, | |
Every subject’s duty is the king’s; brit every | |
subject’s soul is his own.— Shakespeare. | |
We are apt to mistake onr vocation by look- | |
ing out of the way for occasions to exercise | |
great and rare virtues, and by stepping over the | |
ordinary ones that lie direetly in the road betore | |
us.—Hannah More. | |
It is one of the worst of errors to suppose | |
that there is any other path of safety except | |
that of duty.—Nevins. . | |
Dnty itself is supreme detight when love is | |
the inducement and labor. By such a princi- | |
ple the ignorant are eulightened, the hard- | |
hearted softened, the disobedient reformed, and | |
the faithful encouraged.—Zfosea Ballou. | |
Fear God and keep his commandments, for | |
this is the whole duty of man.— ible. | |
There is‘a sanctity in suffering when meek- | |
ly born. Our duty, though set about by thorns, | |
may still be made a staff, supporting even while | |
it tortures. Cast it‘away, and, like the proph- | |
et’s wand, it changes to a snake.— | |
Douglus Jerrold. | |
Only when the voice of duty is silent, or | |
when it has already spoken, may we allowably | |
think of the consequeuces of a particular action. | |
Hare. | |
Let him who gropes painfully in darkness | |
or uncertain light, and prays vehemently that | |
the dawn may ripen into day, lay this precept | |
well to heart: “Do the duty which lies nearest | |
thee,” which thon knowest to be a-duty! Thy | |
second duty will already have become clearer — | |
"Carlyle. | |
Who s0 escapes.a duty avoids:a gain.— | |
Theodore Parker. | |
_ . There are not good things enough in life to | |
indemnify us for the neglect of a single duty.— | |
Madame Swetchine. | |
Man owes two solemn debts, — one to so- | |
ciety, and one to nature. It is ouly when he | |
pays the second that he covers the first.— | |
Douglas Ferrold. | |
A few strong instincts, and a few plain | |
rules.— Wordsworth. | |
Stern duties need not speak sternly. He | |
who stood firm before the thunder worshipped | |
the “still small voiee.”—Srdney Lobell. , | |
--- Chunk 2, Page 54 --- | |
EARNESTNESS. | |
It is an impressive truth that sometimes in | |
the very lowest forms of duty, less than which | |
would rank aman as a villain, there is, never- | |
theless, the sublimest ascent of self-sacrifice. | |
To do less would class you as an object of | |
eternal scorn, to do so much presumes the | |
grandeur of heroism.—Le Quincey. | |
Perish discretion when it interferes with | |
duty. —Hannah More. | |
There is no mean work save that whieh is | |
sordidly selfish; there is no irreligious work | |
save that which is morally wrong; while in | |
every sphere of life “the post of honor is the | |
post of duty.”—Chapin. | |
Stern daughter of the voice of God! — | |
Wordsworth. | |
No man’s spirits were ever hurt by doing | |
his duty; on the contrary, one good action, | |
one temptation resisted and overcome, one | |
sacrifice of desire or interest, purely for con- | |
science’ sake, will prove a cordial for weak-and | |
low spirits, far beyond what either indulgence | |
or diversion or company can do for them.— | |
* Paley. | |
Duties are ours; events are God’s.—Cecil. | |
I believe that we'are conforming to the di- | |
vine order and the‘will of Providence when we | |
are doing even indifferent things-that belong to | |
our condition. —Feneon. | |
Whether your time calls you to live or die, | |
do both like a prince.—Sir P. Sidney. | |
136 | |
EARNESTNESS., | |
Be not diverted from your duty by any idle | |
reflections the silly world may make upon you, | |
for their censures are not in your power, and | |
consequently should not besany part of your | |
concern.—L pictetus. | |
There is no evil which we cannot face or fly | |
from but the consciousness of duty disregarded. | |
Daniel Webster. | |
The consideration that human happiness | |
and moral duty are inseparably connected will | |
always continue to prompt me to promote the | |
progress of the former by inculcating the prac- | |
tice of the latter — Washington. | |
Every one regards his duty-as a troublesome | |
master from whom he would like to be free.— | |
La Roche. | |
Let us do our duty in our shop or our | |
kitchen, the market, the strect, the office, the | |
school, the home, just ‘as faithfully as if we | |
stood in the front rank of some great battle, | |
and we knew that victory for mankind de- | |
pended on our bravery, strength, and skill. | |
When we do that the humblest of us will be | |
serving in that great army which achieves the | |
welfare of the world.— Theodore Parker. | |
Reyerence the highest, have patience with | |
the lowest. Let this day’s performance of the | |
meanest duty be thy religion. Are the stars | |
too distant, pick up the pebble that lies at thy | |
feet and from it learn the all—Jfargaret Fuller. | |
Knowledge of our duties is the most useful | |
part of philosophy.— Whately. | |
E. | |
EARNESTNESS. | |
Do you wish to become rich? Yon may | |
become rich, that is, if you desire it in no half | |
way, but thoroughly. A miser sacrifices all to | |
his single passion; hoards farthings and dics | |
possessed of wealth. Do you wish to master | |
any science or accomplishment? Give yourself | |
to it and it lies beneath your feet. Time and | |
pains will do anything. This world is given as | |
the prize for the men in earnest ; and that which | |
js true of this world is truer still of the world to | |
come.—F’. W. Robertson. | |
The most precions wine is produced upon | |
the sides of volcanoes. Now bold and inspiring | |
ideas are only born of a cicar head that stands | |
over a glowing heart.—Horace Mann. | |
Patience is only one faculty ; earnestness the | |
devotion ofall the faculties. Earnestness is the | |
cause of patience ; it gives endurance, overcomes | |
pain, strengthens weakness, braves dangers, | |
sustains hope, makes light of difficulties, and | |
lessens the sense of weariness in overcoming | |
them ~-Bovee. | |
T look upon enthusiasm in all other points | |
but that of religion to be a very necessary turn | |
of mind; as, indeed, it isa’ vein which nature | |
seems to have marked with more or less strength | |
in the tempers of most men.—Fitzosborne, | |
There is no substitute for thorough-going, | |
ardent, and sincere earnestness.—Dickens. | |
Earn2stness alone makes life eternity. — | |
Carlyle. | |
A man without earnestness is a mournful | |
and perplexing spectacle. But it is a consola- | |
tion to believe, as we mmst of such a one, that | |
he is the most effectual and compulsive of all | |
schools.—Sterling. | |
A man is relieved and gay when he has put | |
his heart into his work and done his best; but | |
what he has said or done otherwise shall give | |
him no peace.—Lmerson. | |
Earnestness is enthusiasm tempered by rear | |
son.—Pascal. | |
--- Chunk 2, Page 55 --- | |
EARTH. | |
137 | |
ECONOMY. | |
EARTH. | |
Onee every atom of this ground lived, | |
Where we find echoes, we generally find | |
emptiness and hollowness; it is the contrary | |
breathed, and felt like me ! James Dontygomery. ,,with the echoes of the heart.—J. £. Boyes. | |
Where is the dust that has not been alive ? | |
The spade, the plough, disturb our ancestors ; | |
The babbling gossip of the air.— | |
Shakespeare. | |
fromm human mould we reap our daily bread.— j‘ECONOMY. | |
Young. | |
The earth, that is nature’s mother, is her | |
tomb. — Shakespeare. | |
Lean not on earth; it will pieree thee to the | |
heart; a broken reed at best; bne oft a spear, | |
on its sharp point Peace bleeds and Hope ex- | |
pires.— Young. | |
The waters deluge man with rain, oppress | |
him with hail, and drown him with inundations ; | |
the-air rnshes in storms, prepares the tempest, | |
or lights up the voleano; but the earth, gentle | |
~and indulgent, ever subservient to the wants of | |
man, spreads his walks with flowers :and his | |
table with plenty; returns with interest every | |
good committed to her eare, and though she pro- | |
dnees the poison, she still supplies the antidote ; | |
though constantly teased more to furnish the | |
luxuries of man than his necessities, yet, even to | |
the last, she continues her kind indulgence, and | |
when life is over, she piously covers his remains | |
in her bosom.—Pliny. | |
The flowers are but earth vivified. — : | |
Lumartine. | |
Friend, hast thon considered the “rugged, | |
all-nourishing earth,” as Sophocles well nanies | |
her; how she feeds the sparrow on the house- | |
top, much more her darling man 4 —Carlyle. | |
I believe this earth on which we stand is | |
but the vestibule to glorious mansions through | |
which a moving crowd forever press.— | |
Jounna Baillie. | |
Speak no harsh words of earth; she is our | |
mother, and few of us her sons who have not | |
‘added a wrinkle to her brow.—Alezunder Smith. | |
ECCENTRICITY. | |
Even beauty cannot palliate eccentricity.— | |
Balzac. | |
Oddities and singnlaritics of behavior may | |
attend genius; hnt when they do, they are its | |
misfortunes and blemishes. The man of true | |
genius will be ashamed of them, or at least will | |
never affect to be distinguished by them.— | |
Sir W. Temple. | |
_ Often extraordinary excellence, not being | |
rightly conceived, docs rather offend than | |
please—Sir P. Sidney. | |
ECHO. | |
That tuneful nymph, the babbling Echo, who | |
has not learnt to conceal what is told her, nor | |
yet is able to speak’ till another speaks.— Ovid. | |
If you know how-to spend less than you get | |
you have the philosopher's stone:-—franklin. | |
All to whom want is terrible, upon what- | |
ever principle, ought to think themselves obliged | |
to learn the sage maxims of our parsimonious | |
ancestors, anid attain the salutary arts of con- | |
tracting expense; fur without economy none | |
can be rich, and with it few can be poor. | |
Johnson. | |
To make three guineas do the work of five. | |
Burns. | |
Nature is avaricionsly frugal ; in matter it | |
allows no atom to clude its grasp; in mind, no | |
thought or feeling to perish. It gathers up the | |
fragments that nothing be lost.— | |
Rev. Dr. Thomas. | |
Economy is an excellent Inve to betray peo- | |
ple to expeuse.—Zimmermunn. | |
It is no small commendation to manage .a | |
little well. He is a good wagoner who can | |
tura in a little room. To live well in abun- | |
dance is the praise of the estate not of the per- | |
son. I will study more how to give a good | |
account of my little than how to make it | |
more.—Bishop Hall. | |
Economy is of itself a great revenue.— | |
Cicero. | |
He who is taught to live upon little owes | |
more to his father’s wisdom than he that has 2 | |
great deal left him does to his father’s care.— | |
Willlaum Penn. | |
There is no gain so certain‘as that which | |
arises from sparing what you have.— | |
. Publius Syrus. | |
He regarded nothing to he cheap that was | |
snperfluous, for what one does not need is dear | |
at a penny; and it was better to possess | |
tiehls, where the plough gocs and cattle feed, | |
than fine gardens that require much watering | |
and sweeping.—Plutarch. | |
Beware of little expenses; a small leak will | |
sink-a great ship.—Franklin. | |
Qualities not regulated ran into their oppo- | |
sites. Economy before competence is meanness | |
after it. ‘Lhercfore economy is for the poor; | |
the rich may dispense with it.— Boece. | |
No man is rich whose expenditnres exceed | |
his means; and no one is poor whose incom- | |
ings exceed his outguings.—ultburton. | |
--- Chunk 2, Page 56 --- | |
ECONOMY. | |
138 | |
EDUCATION, | |
Frugality is founded on the principle that | |
al] riches have limits.—Burke. | |
Men talk in raptures of youth and beauty, wit | |
and sprightliness ; but atter seven years of nnion | |
not one of them is to be compared to good fam- | |
ily management, which is seen at every meal, | |
and felt every hour in the husband’s purse.— | |
Witherspoon. | |
With parsimony a little is sufficient; and | |
without it nothing is sufficient ; whereas frugal- | |
ity makes a poor man rich.— Seneca. | |
Gain may be temporary and uncertain ; but | |
ever while you live expense is constant and cer- | |
tain; and it is casier to build two chimneys | |
than to keep one in fuel.—franklin. | |
Take care to be an economist in prosperity ; | |
there is no fear of your being one in adversity. — | |
Zimmermann. | |
Economy is the parent of integrity, of lib- | |
erty, and of ease, and the beanteous sister of | |
temperance, of cheerfulness and health.— | |
Johnson. | |
Sound economy is sound understanding | |
brought into action ; it is calculation realized ; | |
it is the doctrine of proportion reduced to prac- | |
tice; it is foresceing coutingencies, and providing | |
against them.—J/unnak More. | |
Not to be covetons is money, not to be a | |
purchaser is a revenue.— Cicero. | |
Economy: is integrity and profuseness is a | |
ernel and crafty demon, that gradnally involves | |
her followers in dependence and debts ; that is, | |
fetters them with irons that enter into their | |
souls.— Hawkesworth. | |
Let honesty and industry be thy constant | |
companions and spend one penny less than thy | |
clear gains ; then shall thy hide-bound pocket | |
soon begin to thrive and will never again cry | |
with the empty belly-ache; neither will credit- | |
ors insult thee, nor want oppress, nor hunger | |
bitc, nor nakedness freeze thee.—f’ranklin. | |
The regard one shows economy is like that | |
we show an old aunt who is to leave us some- | |
thing at last.—Shenstone. | |
Proportion and propriety are among the best | |
secrets of domestic wisdom; and there is no | |
surer test of integrity than a well-proportioned | |
expenditure.—Hannah Afore. | |
Where there is a question of economy, 1 | |
prefer privation.—Jfadame Swetchine. | |
The man who will live above his present | |
circumstances is in great danger of living in a | |
Tittle time much beneAth theni, or, as the Ital- | |
ian proverb says . “‘ The man who lives by hope | |
will dic by despair.” —Addison, | |
EDITOR. | |
A journalist is a grumbler, a censurer, a | |
giver of advice, a regent of sovereigns, a tutor | |
of nations. Four hostile newspapers are more | |
to be feared than a thousand bayonets.— | |
Napoleon, | |
EDUCATION. . | |
Education is the apprenticeship of life— | |
Willmott. | |
Jails and state prisons are the complement | |
of schools ; so many less as you have of the | |
latter, so many more you must have of the | |
former.—Horace Mann. | |
Let the soldier be:abroad if he will, he can | |
do nothing in this age. There is another per- | |
sonage less imposing in the eves of some, per- | |
haps insignificant. The schoolmaster is abroad, | |
and J trust to him, armed with his primer, | |
against the soldier in full military array.— | |
Lord Brougham. | |
He is to be educated because he is a man, | |
and not because he is to make shoes, nails, and | |
pins.— Channing. - | |
Knowledge does not comprise all which is | |
contained in the large term of education. The | |
feelings are to be disciplined, the passions are to | |
be restrained ; true and worthy motives are to | |
be inspired ; a profound religious feeling is to be | |
instilled, and pure morality inculeated under | |
all cirenmstances. All this is comprised in ed- | |
ucation.—Laniel JWVebster. | |
Education commences at the mother’s knee, | |
and every word spoken within the hearing of | |
little children tends towards the formation of | |
eharacter. Let parents bear this ever in mind.— | |
Hosea Ballou. | |
The real object of education is to give chil- | |
dren resources that will endure as long as life | |
endures ; habits that time will ameliorate, not | |
destroy ; occupation that will render sickness | |
tolerable, solitude pleasant, age venerable, life | |
more dignified and useful, and death less terri- | |
ble.—Sydney Smith, | |
No woman is educated who is not equal to | |
the successful management of a family.— | |
Burnap. | |
Promoteias an object of primary importance | |
institutions for the general diffusion of knowl- | |
edge. In proportion as the structure of a gov- | |
ernment gives force to public opinion, it should | |
be enlightened.— Washington. | |
We speak of educating our children. Do | |
we know that our children also educate us *— | |
Mrs. Sigourney. | |
The sacred books of the ancient Persians say, | |
If you would he holy, instruct your children, | |
because all the good ‘acts they perform will be | |
‘imputed to you. — Montesquieu. | |
--- Chunk 2, Page 57 --- | |
EDUCATION. 1 | |
3 | |
9 EDUCATION. | |
Any who says.(with Mandeville in his treat- | |
ise agutnst charity schools), “If a horse knew | |
as much us x man, J should not tike to be his | |
rider,” onght to add, “If a man knew as little | |
ns a horse, I should not like to trust him to | |
ride.” — Whately. | |
Conkl we know by what strange cirenm- | |
stances .a man’s genius became: prepared for | |
practical success, we should discover that the | |
most serviceable items in his education were | |
never entered in the bills which his father paid | |
for.—Bulwer Lytton. | |
The world is only saved by the breath of | |
the school children.— Talmud. | |
Begin the education of the heart, not with | |
the cultivation of noble propensities, but with | |
the cutting away of those that are evil. When | |
once the noxious herbs are withered and rooted | |
ont, then the moré noble plants, strong in | |
themselves, will shoot upwards. The virtuous | |
heart, like the body, becomes strong and healthy | |
more by labor than nourishinent.—2iehter. | |
The hest edueation in the world is that got | |
by struggling to geta living.— Wendell Phillips. | |
The true order of learning should be first, | |
what is necessary ; sccond, what is useful ; and | |
third, what is ornamental. To reverse this ar- | |
rangement is like beginning to build at the top | |
of the cditice.—Ars. Sigourney. | |
School-houses are the republican line of for- | |
tifications.—Zforace Jfann. | |
Education is*a better safeguard of liberty | |
than -a standing army. If we retrench the | |
wages of the schoolmaster, we must raise those | |
of the recruiting sergeant —Ldward Everett. | |
There are many things which we can afford | |
to forget which it is yet well to learn.—ZZolmes. | |
It depends on education (that holder of the | |
keys which the Almighty hath put into our | |
hands) to open the gates which lead to virtue | |
or to vice, to happiness or misery.—./ane Porter. | |
I call, therefore, a complete and generons | |
education, that which fits a man to perform | |
justly, skilfully, and magnanimonsly all the of- | |
fices, both private and public, of peace and war. | |
Ailton. | |
When a king asked Euclid, the mathemati- | |
cian, whether he could uot explain his art_to | |
him in ‘a nore compendions manner, he was | |
answered, that there was no royal way to gcom- | |
‘etry. Other things may be seized by might, or | |
purchased with money ; but knowledge is to he | |
gained only by study, and study to be prosecut- | |
ed only in retirement.—./vhnson. | |
Every fresh acquirement is another remedy | |
against affliction and time.— Willmott. | |
I consider that it is on instruction and eda- | |
| cation that the fature security and direction of | |
} the destiny of every nation chiefly and funda- | |
mentally rests. —Aossuth. | |
The wisest man may always learn some | |
thing from the humblest peasant.— | |
J. Petit, Senn. | |
Education, briefly, is the leading human | |
souls to what is best, and making what is best | |
ont of them; and these two objects are always | |
attainable together, and by tlic same means; | |
the training which makes men happiest in them. | |
selves also makes them most serviceable to oth- | |
ers.—Ruskin, | |
Edneation begins the gentleman, but read- | |
ing, good company, and edneation must finish | |
him.—Loeke. | |
We know that the gifts which men have do | |
not come from the schools. If a man is:a plain, | |
literal, factual man, you can make a great deal | |
more of him in his own line by education than | |
without education, justas you can make a great | |
deal more of a potato if you cultivate it than | |
if you do not; but no cultivation in this world | |
will ever make an apple out of a potato.— | |
Beecher. | |
Education is our only political safety. Ont- | |
side of this ark all is deluge—Horace ALann. | |
Were it not better for a man inva fair room | |
to set up one great light, or branching candle- | |
stick of lights, than to go about with a rush- | |
light into every dark corner ?—Bacon. | |
Education is cither from nature, from man, | |
or from things ; the developing of our faculties | |
and organs is the education of nature; -that of | |
man is the application we learn to make of this | |
very developing ; and that of things is the expe- | |
rience we acquire in regard to the different ob- | |
jects by which we are’ affected. All that we | |
have not at our birth, and that we stand in | |
need of at the years of immaturity, is the gift of | |
educution.— Rousseau. | |
The best and most important part of every | |
man’s education is that which be gives himself. | |
Gibbon. | |
A father inquires whether his boy can con- | |
struc Homer, if he understands lorace, and | |
can taste Virgil; but how seldom does he ask, | |
or examine, or think whether he can restrain | |
his passions, — whether hic'is gratefal, generous, | |
hnimane, compassionate, just, und benevolent.— | |
Lady Hervey. | |
The pains we take in hooks or arts which | |
treat of things remote from the necessaries of | |
life is @ busy idleness.— £xller. | |
Public instruction should be the first object | |
of government. — Napoleon. | |
--- Chunk 2, Page 58 --- | |
EDUCATION. | |
140 | |
EDUCATION. | |
The education of the present race of females | |
is net very favorable to domestic happiness. | |
For my own part, I call education, not that | |
which smothers a woman with accomplishments, | |
Dnt that which tends to consolidate a firm and | |
regular system of character; that which tends | |
to form a friend, a companion, and a wife.— | |
Hannah More. | |
In exalting the faculties of the soul, we | |
annihilate, in a great degree, the delusion of | |
the senses.—Aime-Martin. | |
Virtue and talents, thongh allowed their | |
due consideration, yet are not enough to pro- | |
cnre a man a welcome wherever he comes. | |
Nobody contents himself with rongh diamonds, | |
or wears them so. “When polished and set, then | |
they give a lustre.—Locke. | |
Man must either make provision of sense | |
to understand, or ofa halter to hang himself.— | |
Antisthenes. | |
Ttoo acknowledge the all-but omnipotence | |
of early enlture and nurtnre; hereby we have | |
either a doddered dwarf-bush, or a high-tower- | |
ing, wide-shadowing tree! either a sick yellow | |
cabbage, or an edible Inxuriant green one. Of | |
atrnth, it is the duty of all men, especially of | |
all philosophers, to note down with accuracy | |
the characteristic circumstances of their educa- | |
tion, — what furthered, what hindered, what in | |
any way modified it.—Carlyle. | |
I think I should know how to educate ‘a | |
boy, but not a girl; I shonld be in danger of | |
making her too learned.—Niebuhr. | |
Minds that are stupid and incapable of sci- | |
ence arc in the order of nature to be regarded | |
as monsters and other extraordinary phenom- | |
ena; minds of this sort are rare. Henee I con- | |
clude that there are great resources to be found | |
in children, which are suffered to vanish with | |
their years. It is evident, therefore, that it is | |
not of nature, bnt of onr own negligence, we | |
ought to complain.—Quintilian. | |
All who have meditated on the art of gov- | |
erning mankind have been convinced that the | |
fate of empires depends on the education of | |
youth.— Aristotle. | |
Do not ask if a man has been through col- | |
lege. Ask if a college has been through him ; | |
if he is a walking university. Chapin. | |
An intelligent class can scarce ever be, as a | |
class, vicions ; never, as a class, indolent. The | |
excited mental activity operates as a counter- | |
poise to the stimulus of sense and “appetite.— | |
Edward Everett. | |
As an apple is not in any proper sense an | |
apple until it is ripe, so a human being is not | |
in any proper sense a human being until he is | |
educated.— Horace Mann. | |
All that a-university or final highest school | |
can do for us is still but what the first school | |
began doing, — teach us to read. We learn to | |
read in various languages, in various sciences ; | |
we learn the alphabet and letters of all manner | |
of books. But the place where we-are to get | |
knowledge, even theoretic knowledge, is the | |
books themselves. It depends on what we read, | |
after al] manner of professors have donc their | |
best for us. The trne university of these days | |
is.a collection of books.— Carlyle. | |
Education is the chief defence of nations.— | |
Burke. | |
How can man be intelligent, happy, or use- | |
ful, without the culture and discipline of ednca- | |
tion? It is this that unlocks the prison-house | |
of his mind, and releases the captive.— | |
Rev. Dr. Humphrey. | |
In this country every one gets a mouthful | |
of education, but scarcely any one a full meal.— | |
Theodore Parker. | |
The greatest defect of common cdueation is, | |
that we are in the habit of putting pleasure all | |
on one side, and weariness on the other ; ‘all | |
weariness in study, ‘all pleasure in idleness.— | |
Fenelon. | |
Thalwell thought it very unfair to influence | |
achild’s mind by Inculeating any opinions be- | |
fore it had come to years of discretion to choose | |
for itself. I showed him my garden, and told | |
him it was a botanical garden. ‘ How so? | |
said he; “itis covered with weeds.” “0,” 4 | |
replied, “that is only becanse it has not yet | |
come to its age of discretion and choice. The | |
weeds, you see, have taken the liberty to grow, | |
and thonght it unfair in me to prejudice the | |
soil towards roses and strawberries.” — | |
Coleridge. | |
The aim of education should be to teach us | |
rather how to think than what to think, — | |
yather to improve our minds, so as to enable us | |
to think fur ourselves, than to load the memory | |
with the thoughts of other men.—Beattie. | |
To be thoroughly imbued with the liberal | |
arts refines the nanners, and makes men to be | |
mild and gentle in their conduct.— Ovid. | |
Man is an animal, formidable both from his | |
passions and his reason; his passions often | |
urging him to great evils,and his reason fir~ | |
nishing means to achieve them. ‘To train this | |
animal, and make him amenable to order; to | |
innre him to a sense of justice and virtue; to | |
withhold him from il] courses by fear, and cn- | |
courage him in his duty by hopes; in short, to | |
fashion and model him for society, hath been | |
the aim of civil and religious institutions ; and, | |
in all times, the endeavor of good and wise men. | |
The aptest method for attaining this end hath | |
been always judged a proper edncation.— | |
Bishop Berkeley. | |
--- Chunk 2, Page 59 --- | |
EGOTISM. | |
That there should one man die ignorant | |
who had capacity for knowledge, this I call a | |
tragedy, were it to happen more than twent | |
times ina minute, as by some computations it | |
does.— Carlyle. | |
Unless the people can be kept in total dark- | |
ness, it is the wisest way for the advocates of | |
trath to give them full light.— Whately. | |
What we do not call education is more | |
precious than that which we call so. We form | |
no guess, at the time of receiving a thought, of | |
its comparative value. And education often | |
waste its efforts in attempts to thwart and balk | |
this natural magnetism, which is sure to select | |
what belongs to it.—Amerson. | |
As the fertilest ground must be mannred, | |
so must the highest flying wit have a Deedalus | |
to guide him.—Six P. Sidney. | |
We shall one day learn to supersede politics | |
by education. What we call onr root-and- | |
branch reforms of slavery, war, gambling, in- | |
temperance, is only medicating the symptoms. | |
We must begin higher up, namely, in edneation. | |
Emerson. | |
Capacity without edneation is deplorable, | |
and education without capacity is thrown away. | |
EGOTISM. | |
The more you speak of yonrself, the more | |
you are likely to lie—Zinunermann. , | |
The awkwardness:and embarrassment which | |
all feel on beginning to write, when they them- | |
selves are the theme, onght to serve'as a hint to | |
-anthors that self is a subject they ought very | |
rarcly to descant upon.— Colton. | |
J shall never ‘apologize to you for egotism. | |
I think very few men writing to their friends | |
have enough of it—Sydney Smith. | |
It is a false principle, that because we are | |
entirely occupied with ourselves, we must equally | |
occupy the thoughts of others. The contrary | |
inference is the fair one.— Hazlitt. | |
When all is summed up, a man never speaks | |
of himself without loss; his acensations of him- | |
self are always believed, his praises never.— | |
Montaigne. | |
We like so much to talk of ourselves that | |
we are never weary of those private interviews | |
with a lover during the course of whole years, | |
and for the same reason the devont like to spend | |
much time with their confessor; it is the pleas- | |
ure of talking.of themselves, even thongh it be | |
to talk ill —adame de. Sévigné. | |
To speak highly of one with whom we are | |
intimate is a species of egotism. Onr modesty | |
-as well as onr jealonsy teaches us cantion on | |
this subject. —Haclitt. | |
141 | |
EGOTISM. | |
t | |
What hypocrites we seem to be whenever | |
we talk of ourselves! Our words sonnd so | |
humble, while our hearts are so proud.—are. | |
Egotism is the tongue of vanity.—Cham/fort. | |
Every real master of speaking or writing | |
uses his personality as he would any other ser- | |
viceable material ; the very moment a speaker | |
or writer begins to use it, not for his main pur- | |
pose, but for vanity’s sake, as all weak people | |
are sure to do, hearers and readers feel the dif | |
ference in a moment.—ZLolmes. | |
Here is the ‘egotist’s code: everything for | |
himself, nothing for others.—Sanial-Dubuy. | |
The reason why lovers are never weary of | |
one another is this, — they are always talking of | |
themsclyes.—Lochefoucauld. | |
Seldom do we talk of ourselves with snceess. | |
If ITcondemn myself, more is belicved than is | |
expressed ; if I praise inyself, much less.— | |
Henry Home. | |
The pest of society is egotists. There are | |
dull and bright, sacred and profane, coarse and | |
fine egotists. It is a discase that, like influenza, | |
falls on all constitutions. In the distemper | |
known to physicians as chorea, the patient | |
sometimes turns round, and continues to spin | |
slowly on one spot. Is egotism a metaphysical | |
virioloid of this malady ?—//merson. | |
Do you wish men to speak well of you? | |
Then never speak well of yourself—Paseal. | |
He who thinks he can find in himself the | |
means of doing without others is much mistak- | |
en; bnt he who thinks that others cannot do with- | |
out him is still more mistaken.—/ochefoucauld. | |
It is never permissible to say, I say — | |
Afadame Necker. | |
There is searee any man who cannot per- | |
suade himself of his own merit. Has he com- | |
mon-sense, he prefers it to genius; has he some | |
diminutive virtnes, he prefers them to great | |
talents.—Sewall. - | |
Let the degree of-egotism be the measure of | |
confidence.—Zavater. | |
Christian picty annihilates the egotism of | |
the heart ; worldly politeness veils-and represses | |
it.—Pascal. | |
Egotism is more like an offence than a | |
crime; though ic is allowable to speak of your= | |
self, provided nothing is advanced in favor; | |
but 1 cannot hclp suspecting that those who | |
abuse themselves are, in reality, angling for ap- | |
probation.— Zimmermann. | |
The personal pronoun “Tt” bovld he the | |
coat of arms of some individ:uus.—/trearol | |
--- Chunk 2, Page 60 --- | |
TLEGANCE, | |
142 | |
ELOQUENCE. | |
ELEGANCE. | |
Elegince is something more than ease; it is | |
more than a freedom from awkwardness or | |
restraint. It implics, I conceive,'a precision, a | |
polish, a sparkling, spirited yet delicate.— | |
ITasliit. | |
When the mind toses its feeling for elegance, | |
it grows corrupt and grovelling, and seeks in | |
the crowd what ought to be found at home.— | |
Landor. | |
Taste and elegance, though they:are reck- | |
oned only among the smalter and secondary | |
morals, yet aré of no mean importance in the | |
regulations of life. A moral taste is not ot | |
force to turn vice into ‘virtue; but it recom- | |
mends virtue with something like the, blandish- | |
ments of pleasure, and it iutinitely abates the | |
evils of vice.—Burke. | |
ELOQUENCE. | |
- Eloquence is to the sublime what the whole | |
is to its part.—Bruyere. | |
No man ever did or ever will become truly | |
eloquent without being a constant reader of the | |
Bible, and an admirer of the purity and sublim- | |
ity of its language.—Fisher Ames. | |
In eloquence, the great triumphs of the. art | |
are when the orator is lifted above himself; | |
when consciousty he makes himself the mere | |
tongue of the occasion and the hour, and says | |
what cannot bnt be said. Hence the term | |
“abandonment,” to describe the self-surrender of | |
the orator. Not his will, but the principle on | |
which he is horsed, the great connection and | |
crisis of events, thunder in the car of the crowd. | |
Emerson. | |
As the grace of man is in the mind, so the | |
beauty of the mind is eloquence.— Cicero. | |
Great is the power of eloquence; but never | |
is it so great as when it pleads along with na- | |
ture, and the culprit is a child strayed from his | |
duty, and returned to it aguin with tears.— | |
Sternct | |
Eloquence is relative. One ean no more | |
pronounce on the eloquence of any composition | |
than the wholesomeness of & medicine without | |
knowing for whom it is intended.— IVhately. | |
Gentlemen, do you know what is the finest | |
specch that I ever in my life heard or read? It | |
is the address of Garibaldi to his Roman soldiers, | |
when he told them: “ Soldiers, what I have to | |
offer you is futigue, danger, struggle, and death ; | | |
the chill of the cold night in the free air, and! | |
heat under the burning sun; no lodgings, no | |
munitions, no provisions, but forced marehes, | |
dangerous watchposts, and the continual strug- | |
gle with the bayonet against battcries ; — those | |
who love freedom and their country may follow | | |
me.” | |
heard in my life.—ossuth. | |
It is of eloquence as of a flame; it requires | |
matter to feed it, motion to excite it, and it | |
brightens as it burus.— Tacitus. | |
Eloquence is in the assembly, not in the | |
speaker.— Willian Pitt. | |
The receipt to make .a speaker, and an ap. | |
planded one too, is short and easy. Take-com- | |
mon-sense quantunt suficit: add a little applica- | |
tion to the rules and orders of the House [of | |
Commons], throw obvious thoughts in a new | |
light, and make up the whole with a large | |
quantity of purity, correetness, and eleganey of | |
style. “Take it for granted that by far’ the | |
greatest part of mankind neither analyze nor | |
search to the bottum; they are incapable of | |
penetrating deeper than the surface. — | |
Chesterfield. | |
His tongue dropped manna, and could make | |
the worse appear the better reason, to perplex | |
and dash maturest counsels.—.ilton. | |
A just and reasonable modesty docs not only | |
recommend eloquence, but sets off every great | |
talent which a man can be possessed of. It | |
heightens all the virtues which it accompanies ; | |
like the shades of paintings, it raises and rounds | |
every figure, and mukes the colors more beauti- | |
ful, though not so glowing as they would be | |
without it—Addison. | |
O Eloquenee !. thou violated fair, how thou | |
art wooed and won to cither bed of right or | |
wrong ! —Havard. | |
A cold-blooded learned man might, for any- | |
thing I know, compose in his closct an eloquent | |
book ; but in public discourse, arising ont of | |
sudden occasions, he could by no possibility be | |
eloquent.—£rskine. | |
Those who would make us feel must feel | |
themselves.— Churchill. | |
-There should be in eloquence that which is | |
sleasing and that which is real; but that which | |
is pleasing should itself be real.—Pascal. | |
The manner of your speaking is full as im- | |
portant as the matter, as more people have ears | |
to be tickled than understandings to jndge.— | |
' Chester field. | |
In true eloquence I wish that the things be | |
snrmonnted and that the discourse fill the im- | |
agination of him who hears, that he has no | |
yemembrance of words. An orator of past | |
times said that his calling was to make little | |
things appear and be grand.—Jfontaigne. | |
Eloquence, to produce her full effect, should | |
start from the head of the orator, as Pallas | |
from the brain of Jove, completely armed and | |
equipped. Diffidence, therefore, which is so | |
That is the most glorious speech I ever \dom a mentor to the writer, would prove a | |
dangerous counsellor for the orator.— Colton. | |
--- Chunk 2, Page 61 --- | |
ELOQUENCE. | |
143 | |
EMULATION. | |
Were we-as eloquent as angels, we should | |
please some more by listening than by talking. | |
Calton. | |
ts in saving all that is | |
Truc cloquence cons | |
—fochefoucauld. | |
proper, and nothing more. | |
The pleasure of cloquence is in greatest part | |
owing often to the stimulus of the occasion | |
which produces it, — to the magic of sympathy, | |
which exalts the feeling of each by radiating on | |
him the fecting of all.—£mersor. | |
Brevity is a great praise of cloquence.— | |
Cicero, | |
Power above powers! O heavenly clo- | |
qnence! that, with the strong rein of command- | |
ing words, dost manage, guide, and master the | |
high eminence of inen’s affections ! —Dantel. | |
Thoughts that breathe and words that burn. | |
Gray. | |
Eloquence, when:at its highest pitch, leaves | |
little room for reason or reflection, but addresses | |
itself entirely to the fancy or the affections, cap- | |
tivates the willing hearers, and subdnes their | |
understanding. Happily, this pitch it seldom | |
attains. —Hume, | |
Your words are like the notes of dying | |
swans, too sweet to last ! —Dryden. | |
There is as much eloquence in the tone of | |
voice, in the eyes, and in the air of a speaker as | |
in his choice of words.—Rochefoucauld. | |
The glorious burst of winged words ! — | |
Tupper. | |
True cloquence does not consist in specch. | |
It cannot be bronght from far. Labor and | |
learning may toil in vain. Words and phrases | |
may be marshalled in every way, but they can- | |
not compass it. It must exist in the, man, in | |
the subject, and in the occasion.— | |
Daniel Webster. | |
When he spoke, what tender words he used ! | |
so softly that, like flakes of feathered snow, they | |
melted as they fell.—Dryden. | |
Silence that spoke, and cloquence of cyes.— | |
Pope. | |
Manyrare ambitious of saying grand things, | |
that is, of being grandiloquent. Eloquence is | |
speaking ont, — a quality few esteem and fewer | |
aim at.—Jfare. | |
Eloquence the Soul, song charms the senses. | |
Milton. | |
Tie has oratory who ravishes his hearers | |
while he forgets himself.—Lavater. | |
In oratory affectation must be avoided ; it | |
being better for’ man by,a native and clear elo- | |
quence to express himself than by those words | |
which may smell cither of the lunp or inkhorn. | |
Lord Herbert. | |
False eloquence is exaggeration, true clo- | |
quence is emphasis.— WW. R-Alger. | |
Eloquence is the language of nature, and | |
cannot, be learned in the schools; the passions | |
are powerful pleaders, and their very silence, | |
like that of Garrick, goes directly to the soul ; | |
but rhetorie is the creature of art, which he who | |
feels least will most excel in; it is the quackery | |
of eloquence, and deals in nostrums, not in | |
cures,—Colton. | |
EMPIRE, | |
Extended empire, like expanded gold, ex- | |
changes solid strength for feeble splendor.— | |
Johnson. | |
EMPLOYMENT. | |
The Devil never tempted a man whom he | |
found judiciously employed.— Spurgeon. | |
Employment is nature’s physician, fand is | |
essential to humat happiness.— Galen. | |
Employment and ennui are simply incom- | |
patible— Madame Delucy. | |
Be always employed about some rational | |
thing, that the Devil find thee not idle.— | |
St. Jerome. | |
EMULATION, | |
Emulation admires and strives to imitate | |
great actions; envy is only moved to malice.— | |
Balzac. | |
Emulation looks ont for merits, that she | |
may exert herself by a victory; envy spics ont | |
blemishes, that she may have another by a de- | |
feat.— Colton. | |
My heart laments that virtue cannot live | |
out of the teeth of emulation. —Shakespeare. | |
Emnlation is a noble passion ; it is enter- | |
prising, but it is just ; it makes the conqnest | |
for glory fair and generous. ‘True emniation | |
consists in striving to excel in everything com- | |
mendable ; it raises itself, but not by depressing | |
otlicrs.—J. Beaumont. | |
It is scarce possilile at once to admire and | |
excel antauthor, as water rises no higher than | |
the reservoir it falls from.—Bacon. | |
Emulation is a handsome passion; it is | |
enterprising, but just withal. Ite keeps a man | |
Eloquence is a pictural representation of ,within the terms of honor, and makes the con- | |
thought; and hence those who, after having ‘test for glory just and gencrons. He strives to | |
painted it, make additions to it, give usa fancy | |
picture, but not a portrait-—Pascal. . | |
excel, but itis by raising himself, not by depress- | |
ing others.—/eremy Cellier. | |
--- Chunk 2, Page 62 --- | |
ENCOURAGEMENT. | |
144 | |
x | |
ENDURANCE. | |
Worldly ambition is founded on pride or | |
envy, but emulation, or laudable ambition, is | |
actually fonnded in humility; for it evidently | |
implies that we have a low opinion of our pres- | |
ent attainments, and think it necessary to be ad- | |
vanced.—Bishop Lal. | |
Emulation is grief arising from seeing one’s | |
self exceeded or excelled by his concurrent, to- | |
gether with hope to equal or exeeed him in time | |
fo come, by his own ability But envy is the | |
same grief joiued with pleasure conceived in the | |
imagination of some ill-fortune that may befall | |
him.— Thomas Hobbes. | |
Where there is emulation, there will be van- | |
ity ; where there is vanity, there will be folly.— | |
Johnson. | |
Emulation, even in the brutes, is sensitively | |
“nervous.” See the tremor of the thorongh- | |
bred racer before he starts. The dray-horse | |
does not tremble, but he docs not emulate. It | |
is not his work to rm -arace. Says Marcus | |
Antoninns, “It is all one to a stone whether it, | |
be thrown upward or downward.” Yet the | |
emulation of a man of genius is seldom with his | |
contemporaries, that is, inwardly in his mind, | |
although ontwardly in his act it wonld seem so | |
The competitors with whom his secret ambition | |
seems to vie are the dead —Budwer Lytton. | |
Emulation hath a thousand sons, that one | |
by one pursue; if you give way, or edge aside | |
from the direct forthright, like to an entered | |
tide, they all rush by, and leave you hindmost. | |
Shakespeare. | |
There is emulation even in vice.— | |
Eugene Sue. | |
Give me the boy who rouses when he is | |
praised, who profits when he is encouraged, and | |
who cries when he is defeated. Such a boy | |
will he fired by ambition ; he will be stung by | |
reproach, and animated by preference; never | |
shall I apprehend any bad consequences from | |
idleness in such a boy.—Quintilian. | |
God grant that we may contend with other | |
churches, as the vine with the olive, which of | |
us shall bear the best fruit; but not as the brier | |
with the thistle, which of us will be most un- | |
profitable.—Bacon. | |
Emulation has been termed:a spur to virtue, | |
and assnmes to be a spur of gold. But it is a | |
spur composed of baser materials, and if tried | |
in the furnace, will be found to want that | |
fixedness which is the characteristic of gold.— | |
~ Colton. | |
ENCOURAGEMENT. | |
Faint not; the miles to heaven are but few | |
and short.—Rutherford. | |
Correction does much, but encouragement | |
does more. Encouragement after censure is as | |
the sun after a shower.— Goethe. | |
More hearts pine away in secret anguish for | |
the want of kindness from those who should be | |
their comforters than for any other calamity in | |
life-— Young. | |
It may be proper for all to remember that | |
they ought not to raise expectations which it is | |
not in their power to satisfy ; and that it is more | |
pleasing to sce smoke brightening into flame | |
than flame sinking into smoke.—Johnson. | |
ENDURANCE, | |
There was never yet philosopher that conld | |
endure the toothache patiently, however they | |
have writ the style of gods, and make a pish at | |
chance and sufferance.— Shakespeare. | |
Prolonged endnranve tames the bold.— | |
Byron. | |
There is a sort of natural instinct of human | |
dignity in the heart of man which steels his very | |
nerves not to bend beneath the heavy blows of a | |
great-adversity. The palm-tree grows best be- | |
neath a ponderous weight, even so the character | |
of man. There is no merit in it, it is‘a law | |
of psychology. The petty pangs of small daily | |
eares have often bent the character of men, but | |
great misfortunes seldom. There is less danger | |
im this than in great good Inck.— Kossuth. | |
A true-devoted pilgrim is not weary to | |
measure kingdoms with his feeble steps.— | |
Shakespeare. | |
There is nothing in the world so much ad- | |
mired as a man who knows how to bear unhap- | |
piness with courage.—Seneca. Pa | |
‘Wounds and hardships provoke our courage, | |
and when our fortunes are at the lowest, our | |
wits and minds are commonly at the best.— | |
Charron. | |
Whenever evil befalls us,ave ought to ask | |
ourselves, after the first suffering, how we can | |
tnrn it into good. So shall we take occasion, | |
from one bitter root, to raise perhaps many | |
flowers.—Leigh Hunt. | |
The greater the difficulty the more glory in | |
swmounting it. Skilfil pilots gain their repn- | |
tation from storms and tempests.—£picurus. | |
Not in the achievement, but in the endur- | |
ance of the hnman soul, does it show its di- | |
vine grandeur and its alliance with the infinite | |
God.— Chapin. | |
Stillest streams oft water fairest meadows, | |
and the bird that flutters least is longest on the | |
wing.— Cowper. | |
Our strength often increases in proportion to | |
the obstacles which are imposed upon it; it is | |
thus that we enter upon the most perilous plans | |
after haying had the shame of failing in more | |
simple ones.—Rapin. | |
--- Chunk 2, Page 63 --- | |
ENEMIES. | |
145 | |
ENJOYMENT. | |
As in labor,.the more one doth exercise, thie | |
more one is enabled to do, strength growing | |
upon work ; so, with the use of snfluring, men’s | |
minds get the habit of suffering, nnd all fears | |
and terrors.are to thein but as a summons to | |
battle, whereof they know beforehand they shall | |
come off victorious. —Sir P. Sidney | |
ENEMIES. | |
There is no little enemy.— Franklin. | |
A Christian should not discover that he has | |
eneinies by any other way than by doing more | |
good to them than to others. “If thine cnemy | |
hunger, feed him ; it he thirst, give him drink.” | |
Bishop Wilson. | |
Make no enemies ; he is insignificant indeed | |
that can do thee no harm.— Colton. | |
Some men are more beholden to their bitter- | |
est enemies than to friends who appear to be | |
sweetness itself. The former frequently tell the | |
truth, but the latter never.— Cato. | |
Lam persuaded that he who is capable of | |
being a bitter enemy can never possess the ne- | |
cessary virtues that constitute a true friend.— | |
Fitzosborne. | |
If we could read the secret history of our | |
enemies, we should find in each man’s life sor- | |
row and suffering cnough to disarm atl hostil- | |
ity. Longfellow. | |
Plutarch has written ‘An cssay on the bene- | |
fits which a man may reecive from his enemies ; | |
and, among the good fruits of enmity, mentions | |
this in particular, that by the reproaches which | |
it casts upon us, we sec the worst side of our- | |
sclves.— Addison. | |
That is a most wretched fortune which is | |
withont.an enemy.—Publins Syrus. | |
Let us carefully observe those good qualities | |
wherein onr enemies excel us; and endeavor to | |
excel them, by avoiding whatis faulty, and ini- | |
tating what is excellent in them.—Phuarch. | |
Men of sense often learn from their enemies. | |
Prndenee is the best safeguard. This principle | |
eannot be learned froma friend, but an cnemy | |
extorts it immediately. It is from their. foes, | |
uot their friends, that cities learn the lesson of | |
building high walls and ships of war. And | |
this lesson saves their children, their homes, | |
and their properties.—ristophanes. | |
Did a person but know tlic value of an ene- | |
my, he would purchase him with pure gold.— | |
albbe de Raunet. | |
Be assured those will be thy worst enemies, | |
not to whom thou hast done evil, but who have | |
done evil to thee. And those will be thy best | |
friends, not to whom thou hast done good, but | |
who haye done good to thee.—favater. | |
10 | |
Everybody has enemies. To have an enemy | |
is quite another thing. One imust be somebody | |
in order to have an cnemy. One must be a | |
force before he can be resisted by another force. | |
Madame Swetchine. | |
Onur eneinies are our outwaril consciences. — | |
- Shakespeare. | |
With stupidity aad sound digestion man | |
may front mueh. But what in these dull, uniin- | |
aginative days are the terrors of conscience to | |
the diseases of the liver !—Curlyle. | |
A malicions enemy is better than a clumsy | |
friend.—dladume Swetchine. . | |
ENERGY. | |
Energy, even like the biblical grain of mus- | |
tard-sced, will remove mountains.— | |
- Ffosea Ballou. | |
True wisdom, in, general, consists in ener- | |
getic determination.—iVapoleon. | |
Energy will do anything that can he done in | |
this world; and no talents, no cirenmstances, | |
no apportnnities, will make a two-legged animal | |
a man without it.— Goethe. | |
He alone has energy that cannot be deprived | |
of it—Lavater. | |
It is with many enterprises as with striking | |
fire; we do not mect with success except by | |
reiterated cfforts, and cften at thé instant when | |
we despaired of success.— | |
Madame de Maintenon. | |
To impress we must be in earnest ; to amuse | |
it is only necessary to be kindly and fanciful.— | |
Tuckerman. | |
ENJOYMENT, | |
He scatters enjoymeut who can enjoy much. | |
Lavater. | |
~ Temper your cnjoyments with prudence, | |
lest there be written upon your heart that fear- | |
” 4 4 PP | |
ful word “ saticty.”— Quarles, . | |
Light as a gossamer is the cirenmsetuire | |
which can bring enjoyment to a conscience | |
which is notits own accuser.— ]Villiam Carleton. | |
Ye men of gloom and ansterity, who paint | |
the face of Infinite Benevolence with an eternal | |
frown, read in the everlasting book, wide open | |
to your view, the lesson it would teach. Its | |
pictures are not in black and sombre lcs, but | |
bright and glowing tints ; its musie — save when | |
ye drown it— is not in sighs and groans, but | |
songs aud cheerful sounds. Listen to the mil- | |
lion voiees in the summer air, and find one | |
dismal as your own.—Vickens. | |
The less you can enjoy, the poorer, the | |
scantier yourself, —the more you can eujoy, | |
the richer, the more vigorous.—Lavater. | |
--- Chunk 2, Page 64 --- | |
ENNUI. | |
146 | |
ENTERPRISE. | |
All solitary enjoyments quickly pall, or be- | |
come painful, so that, perhaps, no more insuf- | |
ferable misery can be conceived than that which | |
mnst follow incommnnicable privileges. Only | |
imagine a human being condemned to perpetual | |
youth while all around him decay and die. O, | |
how sincerely would he call npon death for | |
deliverance ! —Archbishop Sharp. | |
“ Gratitude is memory of the heart.” There- | |
fore forget not to say often, with Bettine, I | |
have all I have ever cujoyed.”-— | |
Ennui is a growth of English root, though | |
nameless in our language.—Syron. | |
“Ennni” is a word which the French in- | |
vented, though of all nations in Europe they | |
know the least of it.— Bancroft. | |
There is nothing so insupportable to man as | |
to be in entire repose, without passion, ocenpa- | |
!tion, amusement, or application. Then it is | |
that he feels his own nothingness, isolation, in- | |
signiticance, dependent nature, powerlessness, | |
Afrs. £. M. Child. emptiness, Immediately“there issue from his | |
' soul ennui, sadness, chagrin, vexation, despair. | |
Pascal, | |
Providence has fixed the limits of human | |
enjoyment by immovable boundaries, and has | |
set, different gratifications at such a distanect That which renders life burdensome to us | |
from each other, that no art or power can bring generally arises from the abuse of it oussean. | |
them together. This great law it is the bust-, | |
ness of every rational being to understand, that' As the gout seems privileged to attack the | |
life ay not pass away in an attempt to make bodies of the wealthy, so ennui seems to exert a | |
contradictions consistent, to combine opposite similar prerogative over their minds.—Colton. | |
qualities, and to unite things which the nature |: | |
of their being must always keep asunder.— | |
Johnson. | |
ENNUIL. | |
I do pity unlearned gentlemen on a rainy | |
day.—Lord Falkland. | |
Ennui, perhaps, has made more gamblers | |
than avarice, more drunkards than thirst, and | |
perhaps as many suicides as despair. Colton. | |
Ennui, wretchedness, melancholy, groans, | |
and sighs are the offering which these unhappy | |
Methodists make to'a Deity, who has covered | |
the earth with gay colors, and scented it with | |
rich perfumes; and shown us, by the plan and | |
order of his works, that he has given to man | |
something better than a bare existence, and | |
scattered over his creation a thousand super- | |
fluous joys, which are totally unnecessary to | |
the mere support of life-— Sydney Smith. | |
Thave also seen the world, and after long! | |
experience have discovered that ennui is our | |
greatest. enemy, and remnnerative labor our | |
most lasting friend.— Justus JLdser. | |
Ennui was born one day of uniformity.— | |
JLotte. | |
The victims of ennui paralyze all the grosser | |
feelings by excess, and torpefy all the finer by | |
disuse and inactivity. Disgusted with this | |
world and indifferent about another, they at | |
last lay violent hands upon themselves, and | |
assume no small credit for the sang froid-with | |
which they'meet death. Bnt alas! such beings | |
ean searcely be said to die, for they have never | |
truly lived.— Colton. | |
A scholar has no ennui.—Richier. | |
Ambition itself is not so reckless of human | |
life as ennui; clemency is a favorite attribute | |
of the former ; but ennui has the taste of a can- | |
nibal.—Buneroft. | |
Ennui, the parent of expensive and ruinous | |
| vices.—Ninon de 0 Enclos. | |
| Social life is filled with doubts and vain as- | |
| | |
pirings ; solitude, when the imagination is de- | |
throned, is turned to weariness and ennui.— | |
Miss L. E. Landon. | |
Ennui is the desire of activity without the | |
| fit means of gratifying the desire.—Bancre/t. | |
This ennni, for which we Saxons had no | |
name, — this word of France, has got a terrific | |
| significance. It shortens life, and bereaves the | |
day of its light.— Emerson. | |
We are amnsed through the intellect, but it | |
is the heart that saves us fron: ennui.— | |
Madane Swetchine. | |
ENTERPRISE, | |
What passes in the world for talent or dex- | |
terity or enterprise is often only a want of | |
moral principle. We may succed where others | |
fail, not from a greater share of invention, but | |
from not being nice in the choice of expedients. | |
Hazlitt. | |
The method of the enterprising is to plan | |
avith audacity and execute with vigor ; to sketch | |
out a map of possibilities, and then to treat | |
them as probabilities —Bovee. | |
The fact is, that ‘to do anything in this | |
world worth doing, we must not stand back | |
shivering and thinking of the cold and danger, | |
but jump in and scramble through as well as | |
we can.— Sydney Sinith. | |
? | |
Providence has hidden a charm in difficult | |
undertakings which is appreciated only by | |
those who dare to grapple with them.— | |
Madame Swetchine. | |
On the neck of the young man sparkles ne | |
gem so gracious as enterprise —Hajiz. | |
--- Chunk 2, Page 65 --- | |
ENTIIUSIASM. 147 ENVY. | |
ENTHUSIASM. All noble enthusiasms pass through a fever- | |
The same reason makes a man a religions | |
enthnsiast that makes a man an enthusiast in | |
any other way, an wucomfortable mind in an | |
uncomfortable body.— [Zashitt. | |
Enthnsiasm is a virtue rarely to be met | |
with in seasons of calm and unruilled pros- | |
perity. Enthusiasm flourishes in adversity, | |
kindles in-the honr of danger, and awakens to | |
deeds of renown, The terrors of persecution | |
only serve to quicken the energy of its purposes. | |
Tt swells in proud integrityj.and, great in the | |
purity of its cause, it can seatter defiance amidst | |
hosts of enemices.—Dr. Chalmers. | |
The best thing which we derive from history | |
is the enthusinsm that it raises in us.— Goethe. | |
Enlist the interests of stern morality and | |
religious enthusiasm in the cause of political | |
liberty, as in the time of the old Puritans, and | |
it will be irresistible —Coleridge. | |
e . . | |
Every great and commanding movement in | |
the annals of the world is the triumph of en- | |
thusiasm.—Z/merson. | |
A mother should give her children a super- | |
abundance of enthusiasm; that after they have | |
lost all they are sure to lose on mixing with | |
the world, enough may still remain to prompt | |
and support them through great actions. A | |
cloak should be of threé-pile, to Keep its gloss in | |
wear.— Hare. | |
Enthusiasin is the leaping lightning, not to | |
be measured_by the horse-power of the under- | |
standing.—£ merson. | |
Enthusiasm is grave, inward, sclf-controlted ; | |
mere excitement, outward, fantastic, hysterical, | |
and passing in a moment from tears to langhter. | |
. Sterling. | |
Nothing is so contagions as enthnsiasm ; | |
it is the real allegory of the tale of Orpheus ; | |
it moves stones, it charms brutes. Enthusiasm | |
is the genius of sincerity, and_truth accom- | |
plishes uo victories without it—Bulwer Lytton. | |
Without enthusiasm, the adventurer could | |
never kindle that fire in his followers which is | |
80 necessary to consolidate their mutual inter- | |
ests; for no one can heartily deecive numbers | |
who is not first of all deceived himselfi— | |
Warburton. | |
Enthusiasm is always connected with the | |
senses, whatever be the object that excites it. | |
The true strength of virtue is serenity of mind, | |
combined with a deliberate‘and steadfast deter- | |
mination to execute her laws. That is the | |
healthful condition of the moral life; on the | |
other hand, enthusiasm, even when excited by | |
representations of goodness, is a brilliant but | |
feverish glow which leaves only exhaustion and | |
languor bchind.—Aant, | |
ish stage and grow wiser and more screne.— | |
Channing, | |
Let us reeognize the beauty and power of | |
true enthusiasm ; dnd whatever we may do to | |
enlighten ourselves and others, guard against | |
checking or ehilling-a single earnest sentiment. | |
Tuckerman. | |
Every production of genius must be the | |
production of entliusiasm.—Disraeli. | |
ENVY. | |
Base envy withers at another’s joy.— | |
Thomson | |
Envy, like the worm, never runs but to the | |
fairest fruit; like a cunning bloodhonnd, it | |
singles out the fattest deer in the flock. Abra- | |
ham’s riches were the Vhilistines’ envy ; and | |
dacob’s blessing bred Esau’s liatred.— | |
J, Beaumont. | |
We onght to be gnarded against every ap- | |
pearance of envy,:as a passion that always im- | |
plies inferiority wherever it resides — Pliny. | |
There is a time in cyery man’s education | |
when he arrives at the conviction that envy.is | |
ignorance.—Zmerson. | |
Envy, like a cold prison, henumbs and stu- | |
pefies ; and, conscions of its own impotence, folds | |
its arms in despair.—Jeremy Collier. | |
Envy may jnstly be called “ the gall of hit- | |
terness and bond of iniquity’; it is the most | |
acid fruit that grows on-the stock of sin, a fluid | |
so subtle that nothing but the fire of divine love | |
ean purge it from the soul_—ZZoseu Ballou. | |
How ean we explain the perpetuity of envy, | |
—avice which yields no return ?—Bulzac. | |
In our road through life we may happen to | |
meet with a man casting 4 stone reverentially to | |
enlarge the cairn of another which stone he has | |
earricd in his bosom to sling‘against that very | |
other’s head, —Zandor. 7 | |
Envy is more irreconcilable than hatred.— | |
- Rochefoucauld, | |
We had rather do anything than acknowl- | |
edge the merit of another if we can help it. | |
We cannot bear a superior or an equal. Tience | |
ridicule is sure to prevail over truth, for the | |
maliec of mankind, thrown into the scale, gives | |
the casting weight —Ja=litt. | |
Those who raise envy will casily incur ecn- | |
sure.— Churchill, | |
They say that love and tears are learned | |
without any master; and I may say that there | |
is no great need of studying at the court to learn | |
envy and revenge.—N. Caussin. | |
--- Chunk 2, Page 66 --- | |
ENVY. | |
148 | |
ENVY. | |
Whoever feels pain in hearing a good char- | |
acter of his neighbor will feel a pleasure in the | |
reverse ; and those who despair to rise in dis- | |
tinction by their virtues are happy if others can | |
be depressed to a level with themsclves.— | |
Rev. John Barker. | |
Envy is a passion so full of cowardice and | |
shame, that nobody ever had the confidence to | |
own it.—Fochester. ' | |
The man that makes a character makes foes. | |
Young. | |
We are often infinitely mistaken, and take | |
the falsest measures, when we cnyy the happi- | |
ness of rich and great men; we know not the | |
inward canker that cats out all their joy and | |
delight, and makes them really much more mis- | |
erable than ourselves.— Bishop LHall. | |
The hate which we all bear with the most | |
Christian patience is the hate of those who envy | |
us.— Colton. | |
Other passions have objects to flatter them, | |
and seem to content and satisfy them for a | |
while; there is power in ambition, pleasure in | |
Inxury, and pelf in covetousness ; but envy can | |
gain nothing but -vexation.—.Montaigne. | |
How bitter a thing it is to. look into happi- | |
ness through another man’s eyes ! — Shakespeare. | |
There is but one man who ean believe him- | |
self free from envy, and it is he who has never | |
examined his own heart.— William Duncan, | |
Envy, like flame, soars upwards.—Ziry. | |
We are often yain of even the most criminal | |
of our passions ; but envy is a timid and shame- | |
ful passion that we never dare acknowledge.— | |
Rochefoueauld. | |
A weak mind is ambitions of envy, a strong | |
one of respect.— Ei. SW igylesworth. | |
Do not envy the violet the dew-drop or glitter | |
of a sunbeam; do not envy the bee the plant | |
from which he draws some sweets. Do not | |
envy man the little goods he possesses ; for the | |
earth is for him the plant from which he obtains | |
some sweets, and his mind is the dew-drop which | |
the world colors for an instant.— | |
- Leopold Schefer. | |
The hen of our neighbor appears to us a | |
goose, says the Oriental proverb.— | |
Madame Deluzy. | |
Men that make envy and crooked malice | |
nourishment do bite the best.— Shakespeare. | |
Envy, if surrounded on all sides by the | |
brightness of another’s prosperity, like the scor- | |
pion confined within a circle of fire, will sting | |
itself to death.—Colton. | |
Envy pierees more in the restriction of | |
praises than in the exaggeration of its criticisms. | |
Achilles Poincelot. | |
Men of noble birth are noted to be envious | |
towards new men when they rise; for the dis- | |
tance is altered, and it is like a deceit of the eye, | |
that when others come on they think themselves | |
going back.—Bacon. | |
Envy is like a fly that passes all a body’s | |
sounder parts, and dwells upon the sores.— | |
Chapman. | |
' | |
Envy feeds upon the living; after death it | |
ceases, — then every man’s well-earned honors | |
defend him against calumny.— Ovid. | |
Tf our credit be so well built, so firm, that it | |
is not easy to be shaken by calumny or insinua- | |
tion, envy then commends us, and extols us | |
beyond reason to those upon whom we depend, | |
till they grow jealous,-and so blow us up when | |
they cannot throw us down.—Clarendon. | |
The truest mark of being born with great | |
qualities is being born without envy.— | |
Kochefoucauld. | |
Aman that hath no virtue in himself ever | |
envieth virtue in others; for men’s minds will | |
either feed upon their own good or upon others’ | |
evil; and who wantcth the one will prey upon | |
the other.—Bacon. | |
‘Who can speak broader than he that has | |
no house to put his head in? Sueh may rail | |
against great buildings.— Shakespeare. | |
Envy, — the rottenness of the bones.—Bible. | |
If we did but know how little some enjoy of | |
the great things that they possess, there would | |
not be much envy in the world.— Young. | |
If envy, like anger, did not burn itself in its | |
own fire, and consume and destroy those persons | |
it possesses, before it can destroy those it wishes | |
worst to, it would set the whole world on fire, | |
and leave the most excellent persons the most | |
miserable.— Clarendon. | |
Envy the attendant of the empty mind.—_ | |
Pindar. | |
Every other sin hath some pleasure annexed | |
to it, or will admit of some excnse; but envy | |
wants both; we should strive against it, for | |
if indulged in, it will be to us as a foretaste of | |
hell upon earth.— Burton. | |
Surely, if we considered detraction to be | |
bred of envy, nested only in deficient minds, we | |
should find that the applanding of virtue would | |
win us far more honor than the seeking slyly to | |
disparage it. That would show we loved what | |
we commended, while this tells the world we | |
grudge at what we want in oursclves.— Feltham. | |
--- Chunk 2, Page 67 --- | |
ENVY. | |
The envious man is in pain upon all ocea- | |
sions which ought to give him pleasure. The | |
relish of his life is inverted ; and the objects | |
which administer the highest satisfaction | |
those who are exempt from this passion give | |
the quickest pangs to persons who are subject | |
toir. All the perfections of their fellow-crea- | |
tures ara odious. Youth, beauty, valor, aud | |
wisdom are provoeations of their displeasure. | |
What a wretched and apostate state is this! to | |
he offended with excellenee, and to hate a man | |
beeause we approve him ! —Steele. | |
There is some good in public envy, whereas | |
in private there is none; for public envy is as | |
An ostracism that eclipseth men when they | |
gvow too great; and therefore it is a bridle also | |
to great ones to keep within bonnds.—Bacon. | |
Asa moth gnaws a garment, so doth envy | |
consume a man.— St. Chrysostom. | |
I don’t believe that there is a human erea- | |
ture in his senses, arrived to maturity, that at | |
some time or other has not been carried away | |
hy this passion (sc. envy) in good earnest; and | |
yet IE never inct with any one who dared own he | |
‘vas guilty of it but in jest. Mandeville. | |
Many men profess to hate another, but no | |
man owns envy, as being an enmity or dis- | |
pleasure for no cause but goodness or felicity. | |
Jeremy Taylor. | |
Envy is of all others the most ungratifying | |
and diseonsolate passion. There is power for | |
ambition, pleasnre for luxury, and pelf even for | |
eovetousness ; bnt envy gets no reward but yexa- | |
tion.—Jeremy Collier. | |
No crime is so great as daring to execl.— | |
Churcluall. | |
Newton found that a star, examined through | |
a glass tarnished by smoke, was diminished | |
into a speck of light. But no smoke ever | |
breathed so thick a mist as envy or detraction.— | |
Willmott. | |
Envy, among other ingredients, has a mix- | |
ture of the love of justice in it. We are more | |
angry at undeserved than at deserved good for- | |
tune.—Laclitt. | |
Envy makes us see what will serve to accuse | |
others,-and not perceive what may justify them. | |
Bishop Wilson. | |
Envy is an ill-enatured vice, and is made up | |
of meanness and malice. It wishes the force | |
of goodness to he strained, and the measure of | |
happiness abated, It laments over prosperity, | |
and sickens at the sight of health. It often- | |
times wants spirit as well as good-nature.— | |
. Jeremy Collicr. | |
Base natures joy to see_hard hap happen to | |
them they deem happy.—Sir P. Sidaey. | |
to, | |
149 | |
ENVY. | |
The praise of the envious is far less eredit- | |
able than their censure; they praise only that | |
which they can surpass, but that which sur- | |
passes.them they censure.— Colton. | |
Envy is blind, and has no other quality but | |
that of detracting from virtue.—Licy. | |
Envy ought in strict truth to have no place | |
whatever allowed it in the heart of man; for | |
the goods of this present world are so vile and | |
Jow that they nre beneath it, and those of the | |
future world are so vast and exalted that they | |
are above it— Colton. | |
We often glory in the most criminal passion ; | |
but that of envy is so shamefni that we dare | |
not even own it.—Rochefoucauld. | |
To pooh-pooh wliat we are never likely | |
to possess is wonderfully casy. The confirmed | |
echibate is londest in his denunciations of matri- | |
mony. In Alsop, it is the tailless fox that | |
advocates the disuse of tails. It is the grapes | |
we cannot reach that we call sour.— | |
fEneas Sage. | |
In short, virtue cannot live .where envy | |
reigns, nor Hberality subsist with niggardliness. | |
Cervantes. | |
It is beeause we have but 2 small portion of | |
enjoyment ourselves that we feel so little pleas- | |
ure in the good fortune of others. Is it possi- | |
ble for the happy to be envious ? — | |
W. B. Clulow. | |
Of all hostile: feelings, envy is perhaps the | |
hardest ‘to be subdued, heeanse hardly any one | |
owns it even to himself, but looks out for one | |
pretext after another to justify his hostility — | |
Whately. | |
Envy scts the strongest seal on desert.— | |
Ben Jonson. | |
An envious man waxcth lean with the fat- | |
negs of his neighbors. Envy is the danghter of | |
pride, the author of murder and revenge, the | |
beginner of sceret sedition, and the perpetual | |
tormentor of virtue. Envy is the filthy slime | |
of the soul ;-a’ venom,-2. poison, or quicksilver | |
which consumeth the flesh, and dricth up the | |
marrow of the bones.—Soerates. | |
The envious will dic, but envy never.— | |
Moliére. | |
To be an object of hatred and aversion to | |
their contemporaries has been the usual fate of | |
all those whoxe merit has raised them Above | |
the common level. The man who submits to | |
the shafts of envy for the sake of noble objects | |
pursnes a judicious course for his own lasting | |
ame. Hatred dies with its object, while merit | |
soon breaks forth in full splendor, and his glory | |
is handed down to posterity in never-dying | |
strains.— Thucydides. | |
--- Chunk 2, Page 68 --- | |
EQUALITY. | |
150 | |
EQUIVOCATION. | |
Envy always outlives the felicity of its | |
object.—Rochefoucauld. | |
EQUALITY. | |
All men are equal ; it is not birth, but vir- | |
tue alone, that makes the difference.— Voltuire. | |
Equality is one of the most consummate | |
There are some races more cultured and ad- | scoundrels that ever erept from the brain of a | |
yanced:and ennobled by edneation than others ; | |
but there are no raees nobler than others. All | |
are equally destined for freedom.— | |
Alexander von Humboldt, ' | |
Consider man; weigh well thy frame; the | |
king, the beggar, are the same; dust formed us | |
all.— Gay. | |
Equality is the share of every one at their | |
advent upon earth, and equality is also theirs | |
when placed beneath it —Minon de 0 Enectos. | |
Your fat king, and your lean beggar, is but | |
variable service ; two dishes, but to one table; | |
that is the end.— Shakespeare. | |
Who can in reason then or right assume mon- | |
archy over such as live by right his equals, if | |
in power or splendor less, in freedom equal ? — | |
Milton. | |
Come forward, some great marshal, and or- | |
political juggler, —a fellow who thrusts his | |
hand into the pocket of honest industry or en- | |
terprising talent, and squanders their hard- | |
earned profits on profligate idlencss or indolent | |
stupidity. —Paulding. | |
So let them ease their hearts with prate of | |
equal rights, which man never knew.—Byron. | |
The king is but a man, as I am; the violet | |
smells to him as it doth to me; the element | |
shows to him as it doth to me; all his senses | |
lhave bnt human conditions ; his eeremonics laid | |
by, in his nakedness he appears but a man ; and | |
though his affections are higher momnted than | |
ours, yet, when they stoop, they stoop with the | |
like wing.— Shakespeare. | |
AH things whatsoever ye would that men | |
| should do to you, do ye even so to them.— Bille. | |
Itds untrue that equality isa law of natnre. | |
Nature has no equality. Its sovereign law is | |
ganize equality in society, and your rod shail l'subordination and dependence.— Vauvenurgues. | |
swallow up all the juggling old court gold- | |
sticks. —Thackeray. | |
Thersites’s body is as good as Ajax’s, when | |
neither are alive.—Shakespeare. | |
So far is it from being true that men are | |
natnrally equal, that no two people can he half | |
an hour together but one shall ‘acquire an evi- | |
dent superiority over the other.— Johnson. | |
Whatever difference there may appear to be | |
in men’s fortunes, there is still a eertain com- | |
pensation of good and ill in all, that makes | |
them equal.—Charron, | |
Kings and their subjects, masters and slaves, | |
find a common level in two places,—at the | |
foot of the cross, and in the grave.— Colton. | |
Golden Jads‘and girls ali must, as chimney- | |
sweepers, come to dust— Shakespeare. | |
All men are by nature equal, made all of. | |
the same earth by one Workman ; and_how- | |
ever we deceive ourselves,‘as dear unto God is | |
the poor peasant as the mighty ptinee.—Plato. | |
As soon the dust ofa wreteh whom thou | |
wouldest not, as of a prince whom thou couldst | |
not Jook upon, will trouble thine cyes if the | |
wind blow it thither; and when a whirhwind | |
hath blown the dust of the churchyard into the | |
thureh, and the man sweeps out the dust of | |
the ekurch into the ehurchyard, who will un- | |
dertake to sift those dusts again, and to pro- | |
nonnee, “ This is the patrician, this is the noble | |
flower, and this the yeoman, this the plebeian | |
bran ” ? —Rev. Dr, Donne. | |
| practice. | |
Equality is deemed by many a mere specu- | |
lative chimera, which ean never be reduced to | |
But if the abuse is inevitable, does it | |
follow that we ought not to try at least to miti- | |
| pare it? It is precisely because the force of | |
‘things tends always to destroy equality, that | |
the force of the legislature must always tend | |
to maintain it.— Rousseau. | |
In the gates of eternity, the black hand and | |
the white hold each other with an eqnal clasp.— | |
Mrs. Stowe. | |
EQUANIMITY. | |
In this thing one man is superior to‘another, | |
that he is better able to bear adversity and | |
prosperity. —Philemon. | |
Eqnanimity is the gem in Virtue’s chaplet | |
and St. Sweetness the loveliest in her ealendar.— | |
Alcott. | |
EQUITY. | |
Equity is a roguish thing ; for law we have | |
a measure, we know what to trust to; equity is | |
according to the conscience of him that is chan- | |
ecllor, and as that is larger or narrower, so is | |
equity. It is all onc as if they should make the | |
standard for the measure we call a foot-a chan- | |
cellor’s foot. What.an uncertain measure would | |
this be? One chaneellor has a long foot, anoth- | |
er a short foot, a third an indifferent foot; it is | |
the saine thing*in the chancellor’s conscience — | |
Selden. | |
EQUIVOCATION, | |
A sudden lie may he sometimes only man- | |
slaughter upon truth; but by a earefully con- | |
structed equivocation truth always is with | |
malice aforethought deliberately murdered — | |
Borley. | |
--- Chunk 2, Page 69 --- | |
ERROR. | |
151 | |
ERROR. | |
There is no possiblé exense for a guarded | |
tie. Enthusiastic and impulsive people will | |
sometimes falsify thuughtlessly, but equivoci- | |
tion is malice prepense.—//osea Ballou. | |
ERROR, | |
Errors to be dangerous must have a great | |
deal of truth mingled with them; it is only | |
from this alliance that they can ever obtain an | |
extensive circulation ; from pure extravagance, | |
‘and genuine, wuningled falschood, the world | |
never has, and never can sustain any mischief.— | |
Sydney Smith. | |
Error is ever talkative. — Goldsmith. | |
Our understandings are always Hable to | |
error; nature and certainty ‘are very hard to | |
come at, and infallibility is mere ¥anity and | |
pretence.—.Mareus Antoninus. | |
Error is but the shadow of the truth.— | |
Stillingfleet. | |
Conscionsness of error is, to a certain extent, | |
a conscionsness of understanding ; and corree- | |
tion of error is the plainest proof of energy and | |
mastery.—Landor. | |
In al} science error precedes the truth, and it | |
is better it should go first than last.— | |
Horace Walpole. | |
O hateful error, Melancholy’s child! why | |
dost thou show to the apt thonghts of men the | |
things that are not! O error soon conceived, | |
thon never comest unto a happy birth, but | |
killest the mother that engendered thee! — | |
Shakespeare. | |
No tempting form of error is without some | |
latent charm derived from truth.—Acevth. | |
Truth only is prolific. Error, sterile in itself, | |
produces only by means of the portion of truth | |
which it contains. It may have offspring, but | |
the life which it gives, like that of the hybrid | |
races, cannot be transmitted. — | |
Madame Swetehine. | |
There are few, very few, that will own them-! | |
sel¥es in a mistake.— Swift. | |
. | |
Error is a hardy plant; it flourisheth in | |
every soil; in the heart of the wise:and good, | |
alike with the wicked and foolish; for there is | |
no error so crooked but it hath in it some Hines) | |
of truth, nor is any poison so deadly that its | |
serveth not some wholesome use.—Z'upper. | |
Error, when she retraces her steps, has far- | |
ther to go before she can arrive at truth, than | |
ignorance.—-Colton. | |
.There are errors which no wise man will | |
treat with rudeness while there is a probability + | |
Spurn not a seeming error, but dig below its | |
surface for the trath.—Tupper. | |
It is much easier-to meet with error than to | |
find truth; error is on the surface, and can be | |
more easily met with; trath is hid in great | |
depths, the way to seck dues not appear to all | |
the world.—Gocthe. | |
There wilt be mistakes in divinity while | |
men preach, and errors in_ governments while | |
men govern.—Sir Dudley Carlton. | |
My principal method for defeating. error and | |
heresy is by establishing the truth. One pur- | |
oses to fill'a bushel with tares, but ifI can fill | |
it first with wheat, I may defy his attempts.— | |
Newton. | |
Error is worse than ignorance.— Bailey. | |
For the first time, the best may err, art may | |
persuade, and novelty spread out its charms. | |
The first faule is the child of simplicity ; but | |
every other the offspring of guilt.— Goldsmith. | |
Find earth where grows no weed,.and you | |
may find a heart wherein no error grows.— | |
Knowles. | |
Error is always more busy than ignorance. | |
Ignorance is a blank sheet on which we may | |
write; but crror is a scribbled one from which | |
we must first erase.— Colton. | |
The little I have seen of the world teaches | |
me to jook upon the errors of others in sorrow, | |
not in anger. When I take the history of one | |
poor heart that has sinned and suffered, and | |
represent to myself the struggles and tempta- | |
tions it has passed through, the brief pulsations | |
of joy, the feverish inquietude of hope and fear, | |
the pressure of want, the desertion of friends, I | |
would fain leave the erring soul of my fellow- | |
man with Him from whose hand it came.— | |
Longfellow. | |
It is only an error of judgment to make a | |
mistake, but it argues-an infirmity of character | |
to adhere to it when discovered. Or, as the | |
Chinese better say, “The glory is not in | |
never falling, but in rising every time you fall.” | |
Bovee. | |
All errors spring up in the neighborhood of | |
some truth; they grow round about it, and, for | |
the most part, derive their strength from sueh | |
contignity.—Rev. T. Binney. | |
Error is sometimes so nearly allied to.truth | |
that it blends with it as imperceptibly as the | |
colors of the rainbow fade into cach other.— | |
W. B. Clilow. | |
How happy he who can still hope to lift | |
himself from this sea of error! What we know | |
that they may be the refraction of some great | not, that we are anxious to possess, and caunot | |
truth still below the horizon.— Coleridge. | |
use what we know.— Goethe. | |
--- Chunk 2, Page 70 --- | |
ESTEEM. | |
152 | |
ETERNITY. | |
We can get ont of certain errors only at the | |
top; thatis, by raising our minds above human | |
things.— Joubert, | |
There are in certain heads a kind of estab- | |
lished errors against which reason has no weap- | |
ons, ‘There are more of these mere assertions | |
current than one would believe. Men are very | |
fond of proving their steadfast adherence tu | |
nonsense.—- Von Anebel. | |
The more confidently secure we feel against | |
our liability to any error, to which in faet we | |
are liable, the greater must be owr danger of | |
falling into it— }Vhately. | |
ESTEEM. | |
Estcem cannot be where there is no confi-, | |
dence, and there can be no contidence where | |
there is no respect— Henry Giles. | |
The estcem of wise and good men is the | |
greatest of all temporal encouragements to | |
virtuc ; and it is a mark of an abandoned spirit | |
to have no regard to it.—Burke. | |
We acquire the love of people who, being in | |
ous proximity, are presumed to know us; and | |
we receive reputation, or celebrity, from such | |
as arc not personally acquainted with us. | |
Merit sccures io us the regard of our honest | |
neighbors, and good fortune that of the public. | |
Esteem is the harvest ofa whole life spent in | |
nsefulness ; but reputation is often bestowed | |
npon a chance action, and depends most on | |
snecess.—G. A. Sala. | |
To be loved, we should merit but little es- | |
teem ; all superiority attracts awe-and aversion. | |
Helvetius. | |
The chief ingredients in the composition of | |
those qualities that gain esteem and praise are | |
good nature, truth, good sense, and good breed- | |
ing.—Addison. | |
We have so exalted a notion of the human | |
soul, thatave cannot bear to be despised by it, | |
or even not to be esteemed by it. Man, in | |
fact, places all his happiness in this esteem.— | |
- Paseal. | |
Local esteem is far more conducive to hap; | |
piness than general reputation. The latter may | |
be compared to the fixed stars which glimmer | |
so remotely as to afford little light and no | |
warmth. The former is like the sun, each day | |
shedding his prolific'and cheering beams.— | |
W. B. Clulow. | |
Ii is common to esteem most what is most | |
unknown.— Tacitus. | |
There is graciousness aud a kind of urbanity | |
in beginning with men by esteem and confi- | |
dence. It proves, at least, that we have long | |
lived in good company with others and with | |
ourselves.— Joubert. | |
| Esteem has more engaging charms than | |
friendship, and even love. Ji captivates hearts | |
better, and never inakes ingrates.— | |
Rochefoucauld. | |
ESTIMATION. | |
Tt is seldom that a man labors well in his | |
minor department unless he overrates it. It is | |
lneky for us that the bee docs not look Pen the | |
honeycomb in the same light we do.— !Vhately. | |
ETERNITY. | |
Eternity, thou pleasing, dreadful thought! — | |
‘Addison. | |
Eternity is the divine treasure-house, and | |
hope is the window, by means of which mortals | |
“are permitted to see, as through a glass darkly, | |
, the things which God is preparing.—Jfountford. | |
The thought of eternity consoles for the | |
shortness of life. —dfalesherbes. | |
“What is eternity?’ was a question once | |
‘asked at the Deaf and Dumb Institution at | |
Paris, and the beantiful and striking answer | |
was given by one of the pupils, “ The lifetime | |
of the Almighty.”—John Bate. | |
And can eternity belong to me, poor pen- | |
sioner on the bountics of an hour ?— Young. | |
Our imagination so magnifies this present | |
, existence, by the power of continual reflection | |
on it, and so attenuates eternity, by not think- | |
ing of it at all, that we reduce an eternity to | |
| nothingness, and expand a mere nothing to an | |
eternity; and this habit is so inveterately rooted | |
in us that all the force of reason cannot induce | |
us to lay it aside.—Pascal. , | |
There is, I know not how, in the minds of | |
men, a certain presage, as it were, of a future | |
existence ; and this takes the deepest root, and | |
is most discoverable, in the greatest geninses | |
‘and most exalied souls.— Cicero. | |
| The disappointed man turns his thoughts | |
‘toward a state of existence where his wiser | |
desires may be fixed with the certainty of faith ; | |
the successful man fecls that the objects which | |
he has ardently pursued fail to satisfy the crav- | |
ings of an immortal spirit; the wicked man | |
| turneth away from his wickedness, that he may | |
save his soul alive.—Southey. | |
All great natures delight in stability; all | |
great men find eternity affirmed in the very | |
promise of their faculties —Lmerson. | |
When at eve, at the bounding of the land- | |
scape, the heavens appear to recline so slowly | |
on the earth, imagination pictures beyond the | |
horizon an asylum of hope,—a native land of | |
love; and nature seems silently to repeat that | |
man is immortal.—J/adame de Staél. | |
Let me dream that love goes with us to the | |
shore unknown.—M/rs. Homans. | |
--- Chunk 2, Page 71 --- | |
ETHICS. | |
153 | |
EVIL. | |
In the life to come, at- the first ray of its | |
light onr true characters, puriticd but preserv- | |
ing their identity, will more fully expand, and | |
the result of the iufinite diversity will be a com- | |
plete unity.— Madame de Gasparin. | |
Beyond is all abyss, eternity, whose end no | |
eye can reach.—.lilion. | |
IIe that will often put eternity and the | |
world before him, aud who will dare to look | |
steadfastly at both of them, will find that the | |
more often he coucemplates them, the former | |
will grow greater and the latter less-— Colton. | |
ETHICS. . | |
Ethics is the doctrine of manners, or science | |
of philosophy, which teaches men their duty | |
and the springs and principles of human con- | |
duct.—.aunder. | |
Art itself is essentially ethical ; becanse every | |
trne work of artannst have a beanty or grandeur | |
of some kind, and beauty and grandenr cannot | |
be comprehended by the beholder except through | |
the moral sentiment. The eye is onlysa:witness ; | |
it is nota judge. The mind judges what the | |
eye reports to it; therefore, whatever clevates | |
the moral sentiment to the contemplation of | |
beauty‘and grandeur is in itself ethieal.— | |
Bulwer Lytton. | |
EVASION. | |
Evasion is unworthy of ns, and is always the | |
intimate of eqnivocation — Balzac. | |
Evasions are the common shelter of the | |
hard-hearted, the false and impotent, when | |
called upon to assist; the real great alone plat | |
instantaneons help, even when their looks or | |
words presage difiiculties —Lavater. | |
EVENING. | |
The evening came. The setting sun stretched | |
his celestial rod$’of light across the Jevel land- | |
seape, tind, like the Hebrews in Egypt, smote | |
the rivers, the brooks, and the ponds, and they | |
became as blood.—Longfellow. | |
Sober Evening takes her wonted station in | |
the middle air, a thousand shadows at her beck, | |
Thomson. | |
Evening is the delight of virtuous age; it | |
seems an cmblem of the tranquil close of busy | |
life, — serene, placid, and mild, with the im- | |
press of its great Creator stamped upon it; it | |
spreads its quict wings over the graye, and | |
scems to promise that all shall be peace beyond | |
it—Bulwer Lytton. | |
Now came still evening on, and twilight | |
gray had in her sober livery all things clad.— | |
‘Milton. | |
a paler shadow strews its mantle over the | |
mountains; parting day dies like the dolphin, | |
whom cach pang imbnes with ‘a new color as it | |
gasps away.— Byron. | |
Mecek-eyed Eve, her cheek yet warm with | |
blushes, slow retires through the “Hesperiiu | |
gardens of the west,-and shuts the gates of day, | |
Mrs. Barbauld. | |
Night steals on; and the day takes its fare- | |
well, like the words of a departing, friend, or | |
the Jast tone of hallowed musi¢ in’ minster’s | |
nisles, heard when it floats along the shade of | |
chns, in the still place of graves.—Perewal. | |
Vast-and deep the mountain shadows grew. | |
Royers. | |
EVIL. | |
The lives of the best of us are spent in | |
choosing between evils. —Junius. | |
All animals are more happy than man. | |
Look, for instance, on yonder ass: all: allow | |
him to be miserable; his evils, however, are | |
not brought on by himself and his own fault; | |
he feels only those which nature has inflicted. | |
We, on the contrary, besides our necessary ills, | |
draw upon ourselves a multitude of others.— | |
Menunder. | |
The doing an evil to avoid an evil cannot | |
be good.— Coleridge. | |
Imaginary evils soon become real ones hy | |
indulging our reflections on them; ‘as’ he who | |
in a melaneholy fancy sees something like a | |
face on the walt or the wainscot can, by two | |
or three touches with a }ead pencil, make it | |
luok visible, and agreeing with what he fancied. | |
To overcome evil with good is good, to | |
resist evil by evil is evil.—Jfohummed. | |
All evil, in fact the very existence of evil, is | |
inexplicable until we refer to the paternity of God. | |
It hangs a hnge blot in the universe until the | |
orb of divine Jove rises behind it. In that | |
apposition we deteet its meaning. It appears | |
to us but a finite shadow as it passes across the | |
disk of infinite light.—Chapin. | |
Nothing is to be esteemed evil which God | |
and nature have fixed with eternal sanction.— | |
Jeremy Taylor. | |
We sometimes learn more from the sight of | |
evil than from an example of good; and it_is | |
well to aecustom ourselves to profit by the evil | |
whieh is so common, while that whieh is good | |
is so rare.—Lascal. | |
The dvend of evil is a munch more forcible | |
principle of haman actions than.the prospect of | |
good.—Locke. | |
There is nothing-evil but what is within us ; | |
the rest is cither natural or accidental.— | |
Sir P. Sidney. | |
There are only two bad things in this world, | |
sin and bile.—Hannah More: | |
--- Chunk 2, Page 72 --- | |
EVIL. 1 | |
4, EVIL. | |
That which the French proverb hath of sick- | |
ness is true of all evils, that they come on | |
horseback, and go away on foot; we have often ' | |
seen 2 sudden full or one meal’s surfeit hath | |
stuck by many to their graves; whereas pleas- | |
ures come like oxen, slow and heavily, and go | |
away like post-horses, upon the spur.— | |
Bishop Hall. | |
Where evil may he done, it is right to pon- | |
der; where only suticred, know the shortest | |
panse is much too long.—f/annah Aore. | |
Never let man imagine that he can pursue a | |
good end by evil means, without smmning against | |
~his own soul! Any other issue is doubtful; the | |
evil effect on himself.is certain.—Southey. | |
The truest definition of evilis that which | |
represents it 2s something contrary to nature ; | |
evil is evil because it ig unnatural; a vine | |
which should bear olive-berries, an eye to which | |
blue seems yellow, wonld be diseased ; an un- | |
natural mother, an winatnral son, an unnat- | |
ural act, are the strongest terms of condemna- | |
tion.— 2". WW. Robertson. | |
In the history of man it has been very gener- | |
ally the case that when evils have grown insuf | |
ferable they have touched the point of cure.— | |
Chapin. | |
If yon do what you should not, yon must | |
bear what you would not—Franklin. | |
Evil is easily discovered, there is an infinite | |
variety; good is almost unique. But some | |
kinds of evil are almost as difficult to discover | |
as that which we call good; and often particn- | |
lar evil of this elass passes for good. It needs | |
even a certain preatness of soul to attain to this, | |
as to that which is good.—Puscal. | |
Tf evil is inevitable, how are the wicked ac- | |
countable? Nay, why do we call men wicked | |
atall? Evil is inevitable, but it is also remedi- | |
able.—Horace Afann- | |
He who will fight the Devil with his own | |
weapon must not wonder if he finds him an | |
over-match.—South. | |
By the very constitution of our nature moral | |
evil is its own curse. —Chalmers. | |
As surely as God is good, so surely there is | |
no such thing as necessary evil. For by the re- | |
ligions mind, sickness and pain and death are | |
not to be accounted evils. Moral evils are of | |
your own making ; and undoubtedly the great- | |
er part of them may be prevented. Deformities | |
of mind, as of body, will sometimes ocenr.— | |
Southey. | |
It is a proof of our natural bias to evil, that | |
gain is slower and harder than loss in all things | |
good; butin all things bad, getting is quicker | |
and easier than getting rid of —Hare. | |
To great evils we submit; we resent little | |
provocations. I have before now been disap- | |
pointed of a hundred-pound job and lost half.a | |
erown at rackets on the same day, and been | |
more mortified at the Jatter than the former.— | |
flaclitt, | |
We are neither obstinately nor wilfully tc | |
oppose evils, nor trackle under them for want of | |
eonrage, but that we are naturally to give way | |
to them, according to their condition -and our | |
own, we ought to grant free passage to diseases ; | |
and I find they stay less with me who let them | |
alone. And I have lost those which are reputed | |
the most tenacious and obstinate of their own | |
defervescence, withont any help or art, and eon- | |
trary to their rules. Let us a little permit Na- | |
ture to take her own way; she better under- | |
stands her own affairs than we.—AZontaigne. | |
Philosophy trinmphs easily over past ‘and | |
future evils, but present evils triumph over phi- | |
losophy.—ochefoucauld. | |
Many have puzzled themselves about the | |
origin of evil. Lam content to observe that there | |
is evil, and that there is a way to escape from it; | |
and with this I begin and end. Newton. | |
We cannot do evil to others without doing it | |
to ourselves.—Desmahis. | |
Every evil to which we do not succumb is a | |
benefactor. As the Sandwich Islander believes | |
that the strength and valor of the enemy he kills | |
passes into himself, so we gain the strength of | |
the temptation we resist.—Lmerson. | |
The evil that men do lives after them; the | |
good is oft interred with their bones.— | |
Shakespeare. | |
Evils in the journey of life are like the hills | |
which alarm travellers npon their road ; they | |
both appear great at a distanee, but when we | |
approach them we find that they are far less in- | |
surmountable than we had conceived.—Colton. | |
There are times when it would seem as if | |
God fished with a line, and the Devil with a | |
net.—Dadame Swetchine, | |
Good is positive. Evil is merely privative, | |
not absolute. It is like cold, which 1s the pri- | |
vation of heat. All evil is so much death or | |
nonentity —Emerson. | |
He who is in evil is also in the punishment | |
of evil.— Swedenborg. | |
As there is much beast and some devil in | |
man, so is there some angel and some God in | |
him. The béast and the devil may be conquered, | |
but in this life never destroyed.— Coleridge. | |
There is this of good in real evils, they de | |
liver us while they last from the petty despotism | |
of all that were imaginary.—Colton. . | |
--- Chunk 2, Page 73 --- | |
EVIL-SPEAKING. | |
155 | |
EXAMPLE. | |
There is some soul of goodness in things | |
evil, would men observingly distil it out.— | |
. Shakespeare. | |
There are thousands hacking a¢ the branches | |
of evil to one who is striking at the root.— | |
Thoreau. | |
With every, exertion, the best of men can do | |
but a moderate amount of good ; but it seems | |
in the power of the most contemptible individ- | |
nal to do inealculable mischief. — | |
. Washington Irving. | |
EVIL-SPEAKING. | |
IH deeds are doubled with an evil word.— | |
Shakespeare. | |
Tt is not good to speak evil of all whom we | |
know bad ; it is worse to judge evil of any who | |
may prove good. To speak ill upon knowl- | |
edge shows a want of charity ; to speak ill upon | |
suspicion-shows a want of honesty. I will not | |
spetk so bad as I know of inany; I will not | |
speak worse than I know of any. To know | |
evil of others and not speak it, is sometimes dis- | |
cretion ; to speak evil of others and not know | |
it, is always dishonesty. He may be evil him- | |
self who speaks good of others upon knowledge, | |
but he can never be: good himself who_speiks | |
evil of others upon suspicion.—Arthur Warwick. | |
A good word is‘an easy obligation ; but not | |
to speak ill requires only our silence, which | |
costs us nothing.—Tillotson. | |
One doth not know how much an ill word | |
may empoison liking.— Shakespeare. | |
A man has no more right to say an uneivil | |
thing than to act one; no more right to say a | |
rude thing to another than to knock him down. | |
Johnson. | |
‘ | |
A knavish specch sleeps in a foolish ear— | |
Shakespeare. | |
It is safer to affront some people than to | |
oblige them ; for the better a man deserves, the | |
worse they will speak of him.—Seneca. | |
_ Evil report, like the Italian stiletto, is an | |
rassassin’s weapon, worthy only of the bravo.— | |
ifadame de Maintenon. | |
When will talkers refrain from evil speak- | |
ing? Whien listeners refrain from evil hearing. | |
At present there are nvuny so credulous of evil, | |
they will reccive suspicions and impressions | |
against persons whom they don’t know, from a | |
person whom they do know,— an anthority | |
good for nothing.—Zare, | |
Wherever the speech is corrupted the mind | |
is also.— Seneca. | |
EXAGGERATION. | |
Exaggeration is a blood relation to false- | |
hood and nearly as blainable.——Lfosea Ballou. | |
The habit of exaggeration, like dram drink- | |
ing, becomes a slavish necessity, and they who | |
practise it pass their lives in a kind of mental | |
telescope, through whose. magnifying medium | |
they look upon themselves and everything | |
around them.—J. B. Owen. | |
EXAMPLE. é | |
Allured to brighter worlds, and led_the way. | |
Goldsmith. | |
If thou desire to see thy child virtuons, Ict | |
him not see his father’s vices; thou cunst mot re- | |
buke that in children that they behold practised | |
in thee; till reason be ripe, exainples direct | |
more than precepts; such as thy behavior is | |
before thy children’s faces, snch commonly is | |
theirs behind their parents’ backs — Quarles. | |
Man is an imitative creature, and whoever | |
is foremost leads the herd.—Sehiller. | |
So admirably hath God disposed of the ways | |
of men, that even the sight of vice in others is | |
like a warning arrow shot for ns to take liced | |
We should correct onr own faults by -sceing | |
how uncomely they appear in others ; who will | |
not abhor a choleric passion, and a saucy pride | |
in himself, that sees how ridiculous and con- | |
temptible they render those who are infested | |
with them ?—J, Beaumont. | |
He hath a daily beauty in his life—— | |
Shakespeare. | |
Example has more followers than reason. | |
We unconscionsly imitate what pleases ns,-and | |
insensibly approximate to the characters we | |
moSt admire. In this way, a generous hubit of | |
thonght and of action carries with it an incaleu- | |
lable influence.—Bovee. ~ | |
There is a transcendent power in example. | |
We reform others unconsciously when we walk | |
uprightly.—Jladame Swetchine. | |
Nothing enlarges the gulf of athcism more | |
than the wide passage which lies between the | |
faith and lives of men pretending to teach Chris- | |
tianity.— Stillingfleet. | |
Thongh “ the words of the wise he as nails | |
fastened hy the masters of the assemblies,” yet | |
sure their examples, arc the hammer to drive | |
them in to take the deeper hold. A father that | |
whipped his son for swearing, and swore him- | |
self whilst he whipped him, did more harm by | |
his example than good by his correction.— | |
. Fuller. | |
I am satisfied that we are less convineed by | |
what we hear than by what we see.—//erodotus. | |
Think not, Sultan, that in the seyuestered | |
vale alone dwells virtue, and her sweet compan- | |
ion, with attentive eye, mild, affable benevolence t | |
No, the first great gift we can bestow on others | |
is a good cxample.—Sir Charles Morell | |
--- Chunk 2, Page 74 --- | |
1 | |
EXAMPLE. | |
We can do more good by being good than, | |
in any other way.—owland Hill. | |
Men trust rather to their eyes than to their | |
ears ; the eficet of precepts is therefore slow and | |
tedions, whilst that of examples is summary | |
and effectual.— Seneca. ~ | |
* | |
It is a well-known psychological fact that | |
the conscience of children is formed by the in-} | |
fluences that surronnd them; and that their | | |
notions of oud and evil are the result of the | |
moral atmospbere they breathe.—Michter. | |
Itis-a world of mischief that may be done | |
by a single exainple of avarice or luxury. | |
voluptuous palate makes many more.—Seneca. | |
Therd are bad examples whieh tare worse | |
than crimes; and more states hare perished | |
from the violation of morality than from the | |
violation of tuw.—JZontesquicu. | |
None preaches better than the ant, and she | |
says nothing.—franklin. | |
Examples wonld indeed be excellent things | |
were not people so modest that none will set, | |
and so vain that none will follow them.—Zare. | |
“Not the ery, but the flight ofa wild duck,” | |
says a Chinese author, “Jeads- the flock to fly | |
and follow.” —Richter. | |
Be more prudent for your children than | |
perhaps you have been for yourself. When | |
they too are parents, they will imitate you, | |
and each of yon will have prepared happy gen- | |
erations, who will transmit, together with your | |
memory, the worship of your wisdom.— | |
La Beaume. | |
Examples of vicions courses practised in a | |
domestic cirele corrupt more readily and more | |
deeply when we behold them in persons in‘an- | |
thority.—J/uvenal. | |
Example is a dangerous lure; where the | |
wasp got throngh the gnat sticks fast.— | |
La Fontaine. | |
The pulpit only “teaches” to be honest; | |
the market-place “trains ” to overreaching and | |
frand; and teaching has not a tithe of the effi- | |
ciency of training. Christ never wrote a tract, | |
but he went abont doing good.—Horace Afann. | |
The road by precepts is tedious, by exam- | |
ple, short and efficncions.—Seneca. | |
The corruption of the positively wicked is | |
often Iess sad and fatal to society than the | |
irregularities of a virtuous man who yields and | |
falls. —Desmahis. | |
They asked Lueman the fabulist, From whom | |
did yon learn manners? He answered, From | |
1 | |
the unmannerly—Saadi. ! | |
6 EXAMPLE. | |
Precept is instruction written in the sand, the | |
tide flows over it and the record is gone. Ex- | |
} ample is graven on the rock, and the lesson is | |
not soon lost.— Channing. | |
Every man is bound to tolerate the act of | |
which he himself has set the example.—Phicdrus. | |
Nothing is so contagious as example ; never | |
was there any considerable good or ill done that | |
does not produce its like. We intitate good | |
actions through emulation, and bad ones | |
through a malignity in our nature, which shame | |
conceals, and example sets at liberty.— | |
- Rochefoucauld. | |
Other men are lenses throngh which we | |
read our own minds.—Emerson, | |
Men judge things more fully by the cye than | |
by the ear ; consequently a minister’s practice is | |
as much regarded, if net more, than his ser- | |
mons.—Bridges. | |
It is certain, that, either wise bearing or | |
ignorant earriage is caught, as men take dis- | |
case, one of another; therefore let men take | |
heed of their company.— Shakespeare. | |
Preaching is of much avail, but practice is | |
far more effective. A godly life is the strongest | |
argument that yon can offer to the sceptic.— | |
Hosca Ballou. | |
_ There are follies which are caught like con- | |
tagious diseases — Rochefoucauld. | |
A wise and good man will turn examples of | |
all sorts to his own advantage. The good he | |
will make his patterns, and strive to eqnal or | |
excel them. The bad he will by all means | |
avoid.— Thomas & Kempis. | |
Example is more forcible than precept. | |
People look at my six days in the week, to see | |
what I mean gn the seventh.— Cecil. | |
No reproof or denunciation is so potent as | |
the silent influence of a good examples” | |
‘osea Ballou. | |
My advice is to consult the lives of other | |
men, as we wonld a tooking-glass, aud from | |
thence fetch examples for our own imitation.— | |
Terence | |
Be a pattern to others,‘and then ‘all will go | |
well; for as a whole city is infected by the | |
licentions passions and vices of great men, so | |
it is likewise reformed by their moderation.— | |
Cicero. | |
Alexander received more bravery of mind | |
by the pattern of Achilles than_by hearing the | |
definition of fortitude-—Sir P. Sidney. | |
No man is so insignificant as to be sure his | |
example can do no hurt.—Clarendon. | |
--- Chunk 2, Page 75 --- | |
EXCELLENCE. | |
157 | |
EXCELSIOR. | |
The sight of lovers feedeth those in love.— | |
. Shakespeare. | |
People seldom improve when they have no | |
other madel but themselves to copy after,.— | |
Goldsmith, | |
EXCELLENCE. . : | |
Excellence is never granted to man but as | |
the reward of labor. It urgnes, indeed, no small | |
strength of mind to persevere in the habits of | |
industry without the pleasnre of perceiving | |
advantages which, like the hands of a | |
clock, whilst they make hourly approaches to | |
their point, yet proceed so slowly as to escape | |
observation.—Sir Joshua Reynolds | |
Aman that is desirous to excel should en- | |
deavor it in those things that are in themselves | |
most exeellent.—Lpietetus. | |
Human excellence, parted from God, is like | |
a fabled tlower, which, according to Rabbis, Eve | |
plucked when passing out of paradise, — sev- | |
ered from its native root, it is only the touching | |
memorial of a lost Eden; sad, while charming, | |
— beantifil, but dead —C. Stanford. | |
Those who attain any excellence commonly | |
spend life in one common pursuit; for exccl- | |
lence is. not often.gained npon easier terms.— | |
Johnson. | |
There is a moral exeellence-attainable by all | |
who havé the will to strive-after it ; but there is | |
an intellectual and physical superiority which | |
is above the reach of our wishes, and is granted | |
to a few ouly.— Crabb. | |
EXCELSIOR. | |
What we truly and carnestly aspire to be, | |
that in some sense we are. -The mere aspira- | |
tion, by changing the frame of the mind, for | |
the moment realizes itselfi—.J/rs. Jameson. | |
Tris but+a base, ignoble mind that mounts | |
no higher than a bird can soar.— Shakespeare. | |
Bright and illustrious illusions! Who can | |
blame, who Jangh at the boy, who not ‘ad. | |
mire and commend him, for that desire of a | |
fame ontlasting the Pyramids hy which he in- | |
sensibly Icarns to live in a life beyond the pres- | |
ent, and nonrish dreams of a good unattainable | |
by the senses ? — Bulwer Lytton. | |
The movement of the species is upward, ir- | |
resistibly npward.—Baxcroft. | |
_ Lift thyself up, look around, and see some- | |
thing higher and brighter than earth, earth- | |
worms, and carthly ds ——Richter. | |
Darwin remarks that we are less dazzted by | |
the light at waking, if we have been dreaming | |
of visible objects. Happy are those who have | |
here dreamt of a higher vision! They will the | |
sooner he able to endure the ,glorics of the | |
world to come.—.Vocalis. | |
Our natures are like oil; compound ns with | |
anything, yet still, we strive to swim upon tho | |
top.—Beaumont and Fletcher. | |
Whilst we converse with what is above us, | |
we do not grow old, but grow young.— | |
Emerson. | |
The desire of excellence is the necessary at- | |
tribute of those who excel. We work. little for | |
ja thing unless we wish for it. But we cannot | |
of ourselves estimate the degree of our success | |
in what we strive for; that task is left to others. | |
With the desire for exeellenee comes, therefore, | |
the desire for approbation. And this distin- | |
guishes intellectual, execllence from moral ex- | |
cellenee; for the latter has no necessity of hu- | |
man tribunal; it is more inclined to shrink | |
from the public than to invite the public to be | |
its judge.—Bulwer Lytton. | |
O saered hunger of ambitions minds ! — | |
Spenser. | |
Who shoots.at the midday sun, though he | |
be sure he shall never hit the mark, yet as sure | |
he is that he shall shoot higher taan he who | |
aims but/at.a bush.—Su P. Sidney. | |
By steps we may ascend to God.—Milton. | |
Man can only learn to rise from the consid- | |
eration of that which he cannot surmount.— | |
Richter. | |
The little done vanishes from the sight of | |
man, who looks forward to what is still to do.— | |
Goethe. | |
Tt is not to taste sweet things, but to do | |
noble and true things, and vindicate himself | |
under God’s heaven as'a God-made man, that | |
the poorest son of Adam dimly longs. Show | |
him the way of doing that, the dullest day- | |
drudge kindles into a hero, They wrong man | |
greatly who say he is to be seduced by case. | |
Difficulty, ‘abuegation, martyrdom, death, are | |
the allurements that act on the heart of man. | |
Kindle the inner genial life of him, you have a | |
flame that burns up all lower considerations. — | |
Carlyle. | |
Lifted up so high I disdained subjection, and | |
thought one step higher would sev me highest. | |
Afitton. | |
Fearless minds climb soonest unto crowns.— | |
Shakespeare. | |
Besides the pleasure derived from acquired | |
knowledye, there Inrks in the mind of man, ind | |
tinged with a shade of sadness, an unsatisfactory | |
longing for something beyond the present, & | |
striving towards regions yet unknown and un- | |
opened. — Wilhelm von Fwnboldt. | |
Too low they build who build beneath the | |
stars.— Young. | |
--- Chunk 2, Page 76 --- | |
EXCEPTIONS, | |
158 | |
EXERCISE. | |
EXCEPTIONS. | |
The exceptions of the scrupulous put one | |
in mind of some general pardons where every- | |
thing is forgiven except crimes. —Fielding. | |
EXCESS. | |
Let us teach ourselves that honorable step, | |
not to ontde discretion.—Shukespeare. | |
To regard the excesses of the passions as | |
maladies has so salutary an effect that this idea | |
renders all moral sermons useless.—Doiste. | |
The misfortune is, that when a man has | |
found honcy, le enters upon the feast with an | |
appetite so voracious that he usually destroys | |
his own delight by excess and satiety —Anox. | |
Whatever has exceeded its due bounds is | |
ever in a state of instability —Seneca. | |
Pleasures bring effeminaey, and effeminacy | |
foreruns ruin; such conqnests, without blood or | |
sweat, sufficiently do revenge themselves upon | |
their intemperate conquerors.— Quarfes. | |
They are as sick that surfeit with too mueh, | |
as they that starve with nothing. —Shukespeure. | |
There is no unmixed good in human affairs ; | |
the best principles, if pushed to excess, degener- | |
ate into fatal viccs. Generosity is nearly ‘allied | |
to extravagunec; charity itself may lead to ruin; | |
the sternness of justice is but one step removed | |
from the severity of oppression. It is the same | |
in the political world; the tranquillity of des- | |
otism resembles the stagnation of the Dead | |
ea; the fever of innovation the tempests of | |
the ocean. It would seem as if, at particular | |
periods, from causes inserutable to human wis- | |
dom, a universal frenzy seizes mankind ; reason, | |
experience, prudence, are alike blinded ; and the | |
very classes who are to perish in the storm are | |
the first to raise its fury.—Sir A. Alison. | |
If a man get a fever, or a pain in the head | |
with overdrinking, we are subject to eurse the | |
wine, when we should rather impute it to our- | |
selves for the excess.—Lrasmus. | |
The excesses of onr youth are draughts upon | |
our old age, payable with interest, about thirty | |
years after date.—Colton. | |
The desire of power in excess caused angels | |
to fall; the desire of knowledge in excess eaused | |
man to fall; but in charity is no excess, neither | |
ean man nor angels come into danger by it.— | |
Bacon, | |
* | |
The body oppressed by excesses bears down | |
the mind, and depresses to the earth any portion | |
of the Divine Spirit we had been endowed with. | |
Horace. | |
Violent delights have violent ends, and in | |
their triumph die; like fire and powder, whieh | |
as they kiss consume.— Shakespeare. | |
Every morsel to a satisfied hunger is only a | |
new labor to a tired digestion.— South. | |
It is a eommon thing to serew up justice to | |
the pitch of an injury. A man may be over- | |
rightcous, and why not over-grateful too? There | |
is a mischicvons excess that borders so close | |
upon ingratitude that it is no easy matter to | |
distinguish the one from the other; but, in re- | |
gard that there is good-will in the bottom of it, | |
however distempered ; for it is effectually but | |
kindness out of the wits.—Seneca. + | |
There can be no excess to love, none ta | |
knowledge, none to beauty, when these attributes | |
are considered in the purest sense.—/'merson. | |
He who indulges his sense in any execsses | |
renders himself obnoxions to his own reason; | |
and, to gratify the brute in him, displeases the | |
man, and sets his two natures at variance.— | |
Walter Scott. | |
Let pleasure be ever so innocent, the excess | |
is always eriminal.— St. Hvremond. | |
To gild refined gold, to paint the lily, is | |
wasteful and ridiculous excess. — Shakespeare. | |
Tn its primary signification, all vice, that is, | |
all excess, brings on its own punishment, even | |
here. By certain fixed, settled, and established | |
laws of him who is the God of nature, excess of | |
every kind destroys that constitution which | |
temperance wonld preserve. The debauchee | |
offers up his body a “ living saerifice ” to sin.— | |
Colton. | |
As surfeit is the father of much fast, so every | |
scope by the immoderate nse turns to restraint. | |
Shakespeare. | |
EXCUSE. | |
An exense is worse and more terrible than a | |
lie; for an excuse is a lie guarded.—Pope. | |
EXERCISE. | |
In those vernal seasons of the year when | |
the air is soft and pleasant, it were an injury | |
cand sullenness against Nature not to go out and | |
see her riches, and partake of her rejoicings | |
with heaven and earth.—Ailton. | |
There are many troubles which you cannot | |
eure by the Bible and the hymn-book, but whieh | |
you can eure by a good perspiration and a breath | |
of fresh air.— Beecher. | |
Such is the constitution of man, that labor | |
may be styled its own reward ; nor will any cx- | |
ternal incitements be requisite if it be considered | |
how mueh happiness is gained, and how much | |
misery escaped, by frequent and violent agita- | |
tion of the body.—Johnson. | |
By looking into physieal eauses our minds | |
are opened and enlarged; and in this pursuit, | |
whether we take or whether we lose the game, | |
the chase is eerteinly of service. —Burke. | |
--- Chunk 2, Page 77 --- | |
EXPECTATION. 159 EXPERIENCE. | |
EXPECTATION. It may serve as a comfort to us in-all our | |
Tlow slow this old moon wanes! she lingers | |
my desires, like to a step-dame or a. downger, | |
Long withering out n yonng man’s revenne.— | |
Shakespeure. | |
Uncertainty and expectation are joys of life. | |
Scenrity is an insipid thing; and the overtak- | |
ingiand possessing of a wish discovers the folly | |
of the chase.— Congreve. | |
Yon give me nothing during your life, but | |
you promise to provide for me at your death. | |
If yon are not a fool, yon know what I wish | |
for.— Martial. | |
The great source of pleasure is ‘variety. | |
Uniformity must tire at last, though it be uni- | |
formity of excellence. We love to expect, and | |
when expectation is disappointed or gratified, | |
we want to be again expecting. —Johuson. | |
With what a heayry and retarding weight | |
does expectation load the wing of time. — | |
William Mason. | |
, EXPEDIENCY. | |
Expediency is the science of exigencics.— | |
Kossuth | |
EXPERIENCE. | |
I learn several great truths; as that it isim- | |
possible to see into the ways of futnrity, that | |
punishment ‘always attends the villain, that | |
love is the fond soother of the human breast.— | |
Goldsmith. | |
Our ancestors have travelled the iron age; | |
the golden is before us.— | |
Bernardin de St. Pierre. | |
There are many arts among men, the knowl | |
edge of which is acquired bit by bit by expe- | |
rience. For it is experience that canseth our | |
life to move forward by the skill we acquire, | |
while want of experience subjects us to the ef | |
fects of chance.—Luto. | |
Experience wonnded is the school where | |
man learns piercing wisdom out of smart.— | |
Lord Brooke. | |
Everything is worth seeing once, and the | |
more one sces, the Iess one either wonders or | |
admires.— Chesterfield. | |
Experience does take dreadfully high school- | |
wages, but he teaches like no other.—Carlyle. | |
We hazardeth much who depends for his | |
learning on experience. An unhappy master, | |
he that is only made wise by many shipwrecks ; | |
a miserable merchant, that is neither rich nor | |
wise till he has been bankrupt. By experience | |
we find out a short way by a long wandering, — | |
Rager Ascham. | |
To most men experience is like the stern | |
lights of a.ship, whic | |
it has passed.— Coleridge. | |
1 illumine only the track J | |
ition from age and experience.— Terence. | |
enlamities and afilictions that he that loses nny- | |
thing and gets wisdom by it is a gainer by the | |
loss.—L’ strange. | |
Experience is the common school-honse of | |
fools and ill men. Men of wit and honesty be | |
otherwise instructed. —Lrasnius. | |
Taught by experience to know my own | |
blindness, shall I speak as if I could not err, | |
and as if others might not in some disputed | |
points be more.enlightened than myself? ~ | |
Channing. | |
Would they could sel] us experience, though | |
at diamond prices, but then no one would use | |
the article second-hand ! —Balzae. | |
Each successive generation planges into the | |
abyss of passion, withont the slightest regard to | |
the fatal effects which snch condnct has pro- | |
duced upon their predecessors; and lament, | |
when too late, the rashness with which. they | |
slighted the adviec of experience, and stifled the | |
voice of reason.—Steele. | |
Theories ‘are very thin and unsubstantial ; | |
experience only is tangible —Hosea Ballou. | |
Ah! the youngest heart has the same waves | |
within it-as the oldest, but without the phim- | |
met which ean measure their depths —Aichter. | |
Oft have I thonght, — jabber as he will, how | |
learned soever, man knows nothing but what | |
he has learned from experience! — Wtelund. | |
Experience is by industry achieved, ‘and | |
perfected by the swift course of tine:— | |
Shakespeare. | |
I scarcely exeeed the middle age of man; | |
Yet between infancy and maturity 1 have seen | |
ten revolutions {—Lamartine. | |
IfI might venture to appeal to what is so | |
mauch out of fashion at Paris, I mean to experi- | |
ence, I should tell you that in my course I have | |
known, and, according to my measure, have co- | |
operated with great men ; and I have never yet | |
seen any plan which has not been mended by | |
the observations of those who were much infe- | |
rior in understanding to the person who togk the | |
lead in the business.—Burke. — - | |
The highest conceptions of the sages, who | |
in order to arrive at them have had to live many | |
days, have hecome the milk for children.— | |
: Ballauche. | |
We are often prophets to others only be- | |
eause werare our own historians.— | |
Madame Swetchine. | |
No man was ever so completely skilled in the | |
conduct of life as not to receive new informa- | |
--- Chunk 2, Page 78 --- | |
EXTENUATION. 160 | |
EXTREMES. | |
eee | |
All reasoning is retrospect ; it consists in | |
the application of facts and principles previous- | |
ly known. This will show the very great im- | |
portance of knowledge, especially of that kind | |
called experience.—/. Foster. | |
Allis but lip wisdom which wants experi- | |
ence.—Sir P. Sidney. | |
Experience keeps a dear school, but fools | |
will learn in no other, and scarce in that; for it | |
is true we may give advice, but we cannot give | |
conduct.—L’ranklin. | |
Nobody will use other people’s experience, | |
nor has-any of his own till it 1s too late to use | |
it —Hauthorne. | |
In all instances where our experience of the | |
past has been extensive and uniform, our judg- | |
ment concerning the future amounts to moral | |
certainty. —Benttie. | |
Experience is a jewel, and it had need be so, | |
for it is often purchased at an infinite rate,— | |
Shakespeare. | |
To some purpose is that man wise who | |
gains his wisdom at another’s expense.— | |
Plautus. | |
Each sneceeding day is the’ scholar of that | |
which preceded.—Publius Syrus, | |
The bitter past, more weleome is the sweet. | |
Shakespeare. | |
Every man’s experience of to-day is that he | |
was a fool yesterday and the day before yester- | |
day. To-morrow he will most likely be of ex- | |
actly the same opinion.— Charles Mackay. | |
Experience, that chill touchstone whose sad | |
proof reduces all things from their hue.—Byron. | |
EXTENUATION. | |
Oftentimes excusing of a fault doth make | |
the fault the worse by the excuse; as patches, | |
set upon a little breach, ciseredit more, in hid- | |
ing of the fanlt than did the fault before it was | |
so patched.—Shakespeare. | |
EXTRAVAGANCE, | |
The passion of ‘acquiring riches in order to | |
support a vain expense corrupts the purest | |
souls.—Fenelon. | |
Expense of time is the most costly of all | |
expenses.— Theophrastus. | |
Prodigality is indeed the vice of ‘a weak | |
nature, as avarice is of a strong one; it comes | |
of a weak craving for those blandishments of | |
the world which are easily to be had for money. | |
Henry Taylor. | |
There is hope in extravagance, there is | |
none in rontine.—Zmerson. | |
That is suitable to a man in point of orna- | |
mental expense, not which he can afford to have, | |
but which he can afford to lose.— Whately. | |
A large retinue upon a small income, like a | |
large cascade upon a small stream, tends to dis- | |
cover its tenuity.—Shenstone. | |
EXTREMES. | |
We feel neither extreme heat nor extreme | |
cold. Qualities that are in excess are so much | |
at variance with our feelings that they are | |
impalpable; we do not fecl them, though we | |
suffer from their effects. The mind is equally | |
affected by too great youth and by excessive | |
old ‘age, by too much and too little leaming. | |
In short, extremes are for us as if they were | |
not, and as if we were not, in regard to them; | |
they escape from us, or we from them.—Pascal. | |
Our age knows nothing but reactions, and | |
leaps from one extreme to another.—WMiebuhr. | |
Crnel men are the greatest lovers of mercy, | |
avaricious men of generosity, and proud men | |
of humility; that is to say, in others, not in, | |
themselves.—- Colton. | |
No violent extreme endures.— Carlyle. | |
We must remember how apt man is to ex- | |
tremes, — rushing from credulity and weakness | |
to suspicion and distrust. Bulwer Lytton. | |
Everything runs to excess; every good | |
quality is noxious, if unmixed; and, to carry | |
the danger to the edge of rnin, nature canses | |
each man’s pecniiarity to snperabound.— | |
Emerson. | |
Shin equally a sombre air ‘and vivacious | |
sallies.—J/arcus Antoninus. | |
The. man who can be nothing but serious, | |
or nothing but merry, is but half a man.— | |
Leigh Hunt. | |
Both in individuals and in masses violent ex- | |
eitement is always followed by remission, and | |
often by reaction. We are all inelined to de- | |
preciate whatever we have overpraised, and, on - | |
the other hand, to show undue indulgence, | |
where we have shown undue rigor.—JJacaulay. | |
Neither great poverty nor great riches will | |
hear reason.—Frelding. | |
So near are the boundaries of panegytic and | |
invective, that a worn-out sinner is sometimes | |
found to make the best declaimer against sin. | |
The same high-seasoned descriptions which in | |
his unregencrate state served to inflame his | |
appetites, in his new province of a moralist will | |
serve him (a little turned) to expose the enor- | |
mity of those appetites in other men.—Lamb, | |
Women are ever in extremes; they are | |
either better or worse than men.—Bruyere. | |
--- Chunk 2, Page 79 --- | |
EXTREMES. | |
161 | |
EYES. | |
i | |
Tt is a hard but good law of fate, that, as | |
“every evil, so every“excessive power wears itsel!’ | |
out.—-ferder. | |
Extreme old age is childhood ; extreme wis- | |
dom is ignorance, for so+it- may be ealled, since | |
the man whom the oracle pronounced — the | |
wisest of men professed thut he knew nothing ; | |
yea, push.a coward to the extreme and he will | |
show conrage; oppress a man”to the last, aud | | |
he Will rise'abote oppression.—./. Beaumont. | |
The greatest flood has_the soonest ebb ; the? | |
sorest tempest the most’sudden calm; the hot- | |
test love the coldest end; and from the deepest | |
desire oftentimes ensnes the deadliest lhate.— | |
. Socrates. | |
Though little fire grows great with little | |
wind, yet extreme gusts will blow out fire and | |
all.— Shakespeare. | |
There is‘a mean in all things. Even virtue | |
itself hath its stated limits; which not_being | |
strictly observed, it ceases to be virtne.—ZTorace. | |
Too austere a philosophy makes few wise | |
men; too rigorous politics, few good subjects ; | |
too hard a relixion, few religions persons whose | |
devotion is of long continuance.—St. Evremond. | |
Pleasure.and pain, though directly opposite, | |
are yet so contrived by uature as to be con- | |
stant companions ; and it is a facet that the | |
same motions and muscles of the face are | |
employed both in laughing and erying.— | |
Charron. | |
Our senses will not admit anything cx- | |
treme. Too much noise confuses us, too much | |
light dazzles us, too great distance or nearness | |
prevents vision, too great prolixity or brevity | |
weakens an arguinent, too much pleasure gives | |
pain, too much accordance annoys.—Paseal. | |
The blast that blows loudest is soon over- | |
blown.—Smollett. | |
That extremes beget extremes is an apo- | |
the¢m built on the most profound observation | |
of the human mind.—Colton. | |
As great enmities spring from great friend- | |
ships, and mortal distempers from vigorous | |
health, so do the most surprising and the wild- | |
est frenzies from the high and lively agitations | |
of our souls.—Jfontaigne. | |
Extremes, though contrary, have the like | |
effets; extreinc heat mortifies, like extreme | |
coll; extreme love breeds satiety as well as | |
extreme hatred; and too violent rigor tempts | |
chastity as much as too much license.— | |
Chapman. | |
The reverse of | |
Truth lies | |
All extremes are error. | |
error.is not truth, bnt error still. | |
between these extremes.— Cecil. | |
H | |
Mistrust the man who finds everything good, | |
the nun who finds everything evil, and: still | |
more, the man who js indifferent to everything.-— | |
Lavater. | |
Extremity is the trier of spirits. — | |
Shakespeare. | |
EYES. a | |
Flaw-secing eyes, like needle points.—Zowell. | |
People forget that it is the exe which makes | |
the horizon, and the rounding mind’s eye which | |
makes this'or.that man a-type or representative | |
of humanity with the nae of hero or saint.— | |
Eemerson. | |
The vista that shines through the cye to the | |
heart.—.lZoore. - | |
The eye speaks with an cloquence and trnth- | |
fulness surpassing speech, It is the window | |
out of which the winged thoughts olten fly un- | |
wittingly. It is the tiny magic mirror on whose | |
erystal surface the moods of feeling fitfully play, | |
like the sunlight.aud shadow on a still stream.— | |
Tuckerman. | |
Such fiercé vivacity as fires the eye of genius | |
fancy-crazed.—Colerrdge. | |
Speech is alaggard-and a sloth, but the eyes. | |
shoot out an electric fluid that condenses all | |
the elements of sentiment ‘and passion in one | |
single emanation.—dforace Smith. | |
That deadly Indian hug in which men wres- | |
tle with their eyes. — Holes. | |
Little eyes must be good-tempered, or they | |
are ruined. They have no other resource. But | |
this will beantify them cnongh. They are made | |
for langhing, and should do their duty.— | |
Leigh Hunt. | |
We credit most our sight; one eye. doth | |
please our trust far more than ten eat-witnesses. | |
Herrick. | |
Gradual -as the snow, at heayén’s breath, | |
melts off and shows the azure flowers beneath, | |
her lids unclosed, and the bright eyes were seen. | |
Jfoore. | |
Crows pick out the eyes of the dead when | |
they are no longer of any use. But fatterers | |
destroy the souls of che living by blinding their | |
eyes.— Maximus. | |
I prize the soul that slambers in a quict eye. | |
Eliza Cook. | |
O, the cye’s light is a noble gift of Heaven! | |
All beings live from light; each fair created | |
thing, the very plants, turn with n joyful trans- | |
port to the light.—Sehifler. | |
The eyes of other people are the eyes | |
ruin us.— Franklin. | |
--- Chunk 2, Page 80 --- | |
EYES. | |
Men are born with two eyes, but with one | |
tongue, in order that they should see twice as | |
much-as they say.—Colton. | |
T dislike an eye that twinkles like a star. | |
Those only are beautiful which, like the planets, | |
have ‘a steady, lambent light, — are luminons, | |
not sparkling. —Longfellow. | |
Pure vestal thoughts in the translucent fane | |
of her still spirit. —Zennyson. . | |
Ahab cast a covetous eye at Naboth’s vine- | |
yard, David a lustful eye at Bathsheba, The | |
eye is the pulse of the soul ; as physicians judge | |
of the heart by the pulse, so we by the eye; a | |
rolling eye, a roving heart. The good eye keeps | |
minute time, and strikes when it should; the | |
lustful, crotehet-time, and so puts all out of tune. | |
Rev. T. Adams. | |
The eye strays not while under the guidance | |
of reason.— Publius Syrus. | |
Alaek! there lies more peril in thine eye | |
than twenty of their swords; look thou but | |
sweéct, and I am proof against their enmity. — | |
; Shakespeare. | |
Who has a daring eye tells downright truths | |
and downright lies.—Lavater. | |
A pair of bright eyes with a dozen glances | |
suffice to subdue a man; to enslave him, and | |
inflame; to make him even forget; they dazzle | |
him so, that the past hecomes straightway dim | |
to him; and he so prizes them, that he would | |
pive all his life to possess them. What is the | |
fond love of dearest friends compared to his | |
treasure? Is memory as strong as expectancy, | |
truition as hunger, gratitude as desire 4 — | |
Thackeray. | |
The eye of the master will do more work | |
than botn his hands.—Franklin. | |
Lovers are angry, reconciled, entreat, thank, | |
appoint, and finally speak alt things, by their | |
eyes.— Afontaigne. | |
Hell trembles at a heaven-directed eye.— | |
Bishop Ken. | |
The eye observes only what the mind, the | |
heart, and the imagination are. gifted*to see; | |
and sight must be reinforced by insight hefore | |
souls can be discerned as well as manners, ideas | |
as well as objects, realities and relations as well | |
as appearances and accidental connections.— | |
Whipple. | |
Wait upon him whoin thou art to speak to | |
with thine eye; for there be many cunning men | |
that have secret heads and transparent counte- | |
nances.— Burton. | |
A wanton eye is a messenger of an unchaste | |
neart.— St. Augustine. | |
162 | |
EYES. | |
What stars do spangle heaven with such | |
beauty as those two eyes become that heavenly | |
face 1 —Shakespeare. | |
Ah! the soft starlight of virgin eyes.—Balzac. | |
—_—— | |
That fine part of our constitution, the eye, | |
seems as much the receptacle and seat of our | |
passions, appetites, and inclinations, as the mind | |
itself; and at least it is the outward portal to | |
introduce them to the house within, or rather | |
the common thoronghfare to let our affections | |
pass in and out. Love, anger, pride, and ava- | |
rice all visibly move in those little orbs.— | |
Addison. | |
The eye sees what it brings the power to sce. | |
Carlyle. | |
What an eye she has! methinks it sounds a | |
parley of provocation. —Shakespeare. | |
Somehody onee observed, — and the observa- | |
tion did him credit, whoever he was— that the | |
dearest things in the world were neighbors’ eyes, | |
for they cost everybody more than anything | |
else contributing to honsekeeping.— | |
Albert Smith. | |
The eyes have a property in things and | |
territories not named in-any title-deeds, and are | |
the owners of our choicest possessions.—.Alcott. | |
Eyes that droop like summer flowers.— | |
Miss L. . Landon. | |
One of the most wonderful things in nature | |
is a glance ; it transeends specch ; it is the bodily | |
symbol of identity. — Emerson. | |
There is a lore simple -and sure, that asks | |
no discipline of weary years, — the language of | |
the soul, told through the eye.—Jirs Sigourney. | |
Heart on her lip and soul within her eyes.— | |
jyron. | |
The eye’is the window of the soul, the mouth | |
the door. The intellect, the will, are seen in the | |
eye ; the emotions, sensibilities, and affections, in | |
the mouth. The animals look for man’s inten- | |
tions right into his eyes. Even a rat, when you | |
hunt him-and bring hima to bay, looks you in | |
the cye.—Hiram Powers. j | |
Sometimes from her eyes I did receive fair | |
speechless messages. — Shakespeare. | |
When there is love in the heart there are | |
rainbows in the eyes, which cover every black | |
cloud with gorgeous hues. —Beecher. | |
Eyes not down-dropped nor over-bright, but | |
fed with the clear-pointed flame of chastity.— | |
Tennyson. | |
Where is any author in the world teaches | |
such beauty as a.woman’s eye ? — Shakespeare. | |
--- Chunk 2, Page 81 --- | |
EYES. | |
163 | |
EYES. | |
s | |
And eves disclosed what cyes alone could | |
tell. — Dwight. | |
Satan turned Eve’s oye to the apple, Achan’s | |
eye to the wedge of gold, Ahab’s eye to Naboth’s | |
vineyard, and then what work did he make with | |
them! —Rev. J. Allene. | |
Faster than his tongue did make offence, his | |
eye did heal it up.— Shakespeare. | |
The eyes are the amulets of the mind.— | |
IW. R. Alger. | |
None but those who have loved can he sup- | |
posed to understand the oratory of the eye, the | |
mute cloquence of a look, or the conversational | |
powers of the face. Love’s sweetest meanings | |
are unspoken ; the full heart knows no rhetoric | |
of words, and resorts to the pantomime of sighs | |
and glances.—Bovee. | |
Our eyes when gazing on sinful objects | |
are out of their calling and God’s keeping.— | |
Fuller. | |
The eyes of women are Promethean fires.— | |
Shakespeare. | |
Eyes are bold as lions, roving, rnnning, | |
leaping, here and there, far‘and near. . They | |
speak all languages. They wait for no intro- | |
duction ; they are no Englishmen ; ask no leave | |
of age or rank; they respect neither poverty | |
nor riches, neither learning nor power, nor vir- | |
tue, nor sex, butintrude, and come again, and | |
go throngh and through you in a moment of | |
time. What inundation of life and thought is | |
discharged from one soul into another through | |
them ! —Emerson. | |
cyes.— | |
Men of cold passions have quick | |
- Hawthorne. | |
Eyes will not see when the heart wishes | |
them to be blind. Desire conceals truth as | |
darkness does the earth.— Seneca. | |
Like a star glancing out from the blue of the | |
sky !— Whittier. | |
A beautiful eye makes silence eloqnent, a | |
kind eye makes contradiction an assent, an en- | |
raged eye makes beauty deformed. This little | |
meinber gives life to every other part-about us; | |
and I believe the story of Argus implies no | |
more than thatithe eye is in every part; that is | |
to say, every other part would be mutilated | |
were not its foree represented more by the eye | |
than even by itself Addison. | |
Disdain and scorn ride sparkling in her eye, | |
despising what they look on.—Shakespeare. | |
Tell me, sweet eyes, from what divinest star | |
did ye drink in your liquid melancholy 4— | |
Bulwer Lytton. | |
Those laughing orbs, that borrow from | |
azure skies the light they wear.— | |
frances S. Osgood. | |
"A lover’s eyes will gaze an eagle blind. — | |
Shakespeare. | |
The eye is the inlet to the soul, and it is well | |
to beware of him whose visual organs avoid | |
your honest regard.—Tosea Ballou. | |
The balls of sight are so formed that one | |
man’s eyes are spectactes to another to read his | |
heart with.—Johnson. | |
Such eyes-as may have looked from heaven, | |
but never were raised to it before ! —Afoore. | |
The intelligence of affection is carried on by | |
the eye only ; good-breeding has made the tongue | |
falsify the heart, and act a part of continued re- | |
straint, while Nature has preserved the cyes to | |
herself, that she may not be disguised or mis- | |
represented —Addison. | |
The curious questioning eye, that plucks the | |
heart of every mystery.—Grenville Mellen. | |
The eyes are the pioncers that first announce | |
the soft tale of love.—Propertius. | |
An eye like Mars, to threaten and command. | |
Shakespeare. | |
Some eyes threaten like a loaded and levelled | |
pistol, and others are as insniting as hissing or | |
kicking ; some have no more expression than | |
blueberries, while others are as deep as a well | |
which you can fall into.—Lmersen. | |
Love looketh from the eye, and kindleth | |
love by looking.—Zupper. | |
Drink to me only with thine eyes, and I will | |
pledge with mine.—Benr Jonson. | |
Sweet, silent rhetoric of persuading eyes. — | |
Sir W. Davenant. | |
The eye is continually influenced by what it | |
cannot detect; nay, it is not going too far to | |
say that it is most influenced by what it detects | |
least. Let the painter define, if he can, the | |
variations of lines on which depend the changes | |
of expression in the human countenance.— | |
Ruskin. | |
Eyes raised toward heaven are always | |
beautiful, whatever they be. — Joubert. | |
--- Chunk 2, Page 82 --- | |
»FACE. | |
164 | |
FACE. | |
F. | |
FACE. | |
A good face is the best letter of reecommen- | |
dation.— Queen Elizabeth. | |
No human face is exactly the same in its | |
lines on each side, no leaf perfect in its lobes, | |
no branch in its symmetry. All admit irregn- | |
lavity as they imply change; and to banish | |
imperfection is to destroy expression, to check | |
exertion, to paralyze vitality, All things are | |
literally better, lovelicr, and more beloved for | |
the imperfections which have been divinely ap- | |
pointed, that the law of human life may be | |
effort, and the law of human judginent mercy. | |
Ruskin. | |
Tic had a face like a bencdiction.— Cervantes. | |
‘ | |
What clear arehed brows! What sparkling | |
eyes! the lilies contending with the roses in | |
her cheeks, who shall most set them off. What | |
ruby lips !—-Afassinger. ; | |
ul | |
All men’s faecs ‘are true, whatsoever their | |
hands are.— Shakespeare. | |
Look in the face of the person to whom you | |
are speaking, if you wish to know his real sen- | |
timents; for he can command his words more | |
easily than his conntenance.— Chesterfield. | |
The check is apter than the tongue to tell | |
an errand.— Shakespeare. | |
Therelare faces so fluid with expression, so | |
flushed and rippled by the play of thought, that | |
we can hardly find what the mere features | |
really are. When the delicious beauty of linca- | |
ments loses its power, it is because a more | |
delicions beauty has appeared, that an interior | |
and durable form has been disclosed.— | |
Emerson. | |
There is in every human countenance cither | |
a history or a prophecy, whieh must sadden, or | |
at least soften, every reflecting obscrver.— | |
Coleridge. | |
We are all seulptors and painters, and our | |
material is onr own flesh and blood and bones. | |
Any nobleness begins at once to refine a man’s | |
features, any meanness or sensuality to imbrute | |
them.—Thkorean, | |
Expression alone can invest beauty with | |
snpreme and lasting command over the eye.— | |
Fuseli. | |
Alas! how few of nature’s faces there are | |
to gladden us with their beauty! The cares | |
and sorrows and hungerings of the world | |
ehange them as they change hearts; and it is | |
only when those passions sleep, and have lost | |
their hold forever, that the troubled clouds pass | |
off, and leave heaven’s surface clear.—Dickens. | |
That chastened brightness only gathered by | |
those who tread the path of sympauly and love. | |
Bulwer Lytton. | |
Beanty depends more upon the movement | |
of the face than upon the form of the features | |
when at rest. Thus a countenanee habitnally | |
under the influence of amiable feclings acquires | |
‘a beauty of the highest order, from the fre- | |
queney with which such feelings are the ori | |
nating canses of the movement or expressions | |
which stamp their character npon it— | |
Afrs. S. C. Hall. | |
A cheerful face is nearly ‘as good for an | |
invalid as healthy weather.—/ranklin. | |
There remains in the faecs of women who | |
are naturally serene and peaceful, and of those | |
rendered so by religion, an after-spring, and, | |
later, an after-summer, the reflex of their most | |
beautiful bloom.—Richter. | |
Fire burns only when we are near it; but a | |
beautiful free burns and inflames, thongh at a | |
distance.—Nenophon. | |
Her face had ‘a wonderful fascination in it. | |
It was such a calm, quiet face, with the light | |
of the rising soul shining so peacefully through | |
it. At times, it.wore an expression of serious- | |
ness, of sorrow even; and then scemed to make | |
‘the very air bright with what the Italian pocts | |
so beautifully call the “lampeggiar dell’ ange- | |
lico riso,” — the lightning of the angelic smile. — | |
Longfellow. | |
In thy face I see the map of honor, truth, | |
and loyalty — Shakespeare. | |
Natnre has laid ont all her art in beantifying | |
the face: she has touched it with vermilion, | |
planted.in it a double row of ivory, made it the | |
seat of smiles and blushies, lighted it up and en- | |
livened it with the brightness of the eyes, hung | |
it on cach side with curions organs of sense, | |
given it airs and graces that cannot be described, | |
and surrounded it with such a flowing shade | |
of hair as sets all its beauties in the most | |
agrecable light.— Addison. | |
The furrows of long thought dried up in | |
tears.— Byron. | |
The face of a woman, whatever be the force | |
or extent of her mind, whatever be the impor- | |
‘tance of the objects she pursues, is always an | |
obstacle or a:reason in the story of her life.— | |
Madame de Staél. | |
Her face, O call it pure, not pale ! —Coleridge. | |
The loveliest. faces are to be seen by moon- | |
light, when one secs half with the eye and half | |
with the fancy.—Bovee. | |
t | |
--- Chunk 2, Page 83 --- | |
FACT, | |
165 | |
FAITH. | |
Those faces which have charmed us the most | |
escape us the soonest.— Walter Scott. | |
As the language of the face is universal, so | |
is it very comprehensive. No laconism can | |
reach it, It isthe short-hand of the mind, and | |
crowils-a great deal in-a little room. A man | |
imax look a sentence as soon as speak a word. | |
The strokes are small, but so masterly drawn | |
that you may easily collect the image «and | |
proportions of what they resemble— ~ | |
Jeremy Collier. ; | |
Truth makes the face of that person shine | |
who speaks and owns it.—South. | |
Faces are as legible as books, only with | |
these circumstances to recommend them to‘our | |
perusal, that they are read in mnch less time, | |
and'are much less likely to deceive us.—Lavater, | |
That same face of yours looks like the title- | |
page to.a whole volume of roguery.— | |
Colley Cibber. | |
Ver closed lips were delicate as the tinted | | |
pencilling of veins upon a flower; and on her | |
check the timid blood had “faintly melted * | |
through, like something that was half afraid of . | |
light.— Willis. | |
Features, — the great soul’s apparent seat.— | |
Bryant. | |
Not the entranee of a cathedral, not the | |
sound of a passing bell, not the furs of a magis- | |
trate, nor the sables of a funeral, were fraught | |
with half the solemnity of face ! —Shenstone. | |
A face like nestling luxury of flowers.— | |
Massey. | |
FACT. | |
Facts‘are to the mind the same thing as food | |
to the body. On the due digestion of facts | |
depend the strength and wisdoin of the one, | |
just as vigor and health depend on the other. | |
The wisest in council, the ablest in debate, and | |
the most-agrecable companion in the commerce | |
of human life, is that man who has assimilated | |
to his understanding the greatest number of | |
facts.—Burke. | |
FAILURE. . | |
He only is exempt from failures who makes | |
no effurts.— JVhately. | |
Every failure is-a step to snecess; every de- | |
tection of what is false directs us towards what | |
is true; every trial exhausts some tempting | |
form of error. Not only so; but scarcely any | |
‘attempt is entirely a failure ; scarcely any theory, | |
the result of steady thought, is altogether false ; | |
no tempting form of error is without some | |
latent charin derived from truth.— | |
Professor Whewell. | |
Only the astrologer and the empyric never | |
fail — Willmott. | |
There is not a ficreer hell than failure in a | |
great object.—Aeats. | |
A failure establishes only this, that our de- | |
termination to succeed was not strong cnough.— | |
Bovee. | |
Tn the Jexicon of youth, which fate reserves | |
for a bright manhood, there is uo such word as | |
“ fail’? !$—Balwer Lytton. | |
FAITH. | |
It is impossible to be a hero in anything | |
unless one is first a hero in faith —Jacobi. | |
All sects, as far as reason will help them, | |
gladly use it; when it fails them, they cry out | |
it isa matter of faith, and above reason.—Locke. | |
Faith is not reason’s labor, but repose.— | |
Young. | |
Judge not man by his outward manifestation | |
‘of faith; for some there are who tremblingly | |
yeach out shaking hands to the guidance of | |
faith; others who stoutly venture in the dark | |
their human confidence, their leader, which they | |
mistake for faith; some whose hope totters | |
upon crutches; others who stalk into fnturity | |
upon stilts. The difference is chiefly constitu- | |
tional with them.—Lanib. | |
Faith always implies the dishelicf of a lesser | |
fact in favor of a greater.—ZZolines, | |
Faith, in order to be genuine. and of any | |
real value, must be the oftspring of that divine | |
love which Jesus manifested when he prayed | |
for his enemies on the cross.—LZosea Ballou. | |
Trne faith nor biddeth nor abideth form.— | |
Bailey. | |
Faith and works are necessary to our, spir- | |
itnal life as Christians, as soul and body are to | |
our natural life as men; for fuith is the soul of | |
j religion, and works the body.—Colton. | |
Faith loves to Ican on.time’s destroying. arm. | |
Lolmes. | |
Faith is the key that unlocks the cabinet of | |
God’s treasures ; the king’s messenger from the | |
celestial world, to bring all the supplies we need | |
out of the fulness that there is in Christ. | |
. J. Stephens. | |
Faith may rise into miracles of might, as | |
some few wise men hare shown; faith may sink | |
into eredulities of weakness, as the mass of | |
fools have witnessed. —T upper. | |
Faith is necessary to victory.—/Zazlitt. | |
It is hy faith that poetry, as well as devo- | |
tion, soars above this dull carth; that imagina- | |
tion breaks throngh its clouds, breathes » purer | |
air, and lives in a softer light.—ZZenry Giles. | |
--- Chunk 2, Page 84 --- | |
Faith is a certain image of eternity. All | |
things are present to it,—things past, and | |
things to come.—Jeremy Taylor. | |
Faith is the subtle chain that binds us to the | |
Infinite. —iJfrs. E. Oakes Smith. | |
Faith builds a oridge across the gulf of | |
death, to break the shock blind nature cannot | |
shun, and Jands thought smoothly on the far- | |
ther shore.— Young. | |
The light of genius is sometimes so resplen- | |
dent as to make a man walk through life, amid | |
glory and acclamation ; but it burns very dimly | |
and low when carried into “ the valley of the | |
shadow of death.” But faith is like the evening | |
star, shining into our souls the more brightly, | |
the deeper is the night of death in which they | |
sink.—Mountford. | |
The power of faith will often shine forth the | |
most when the character is naturally weak.— | |
Hare. | |
Tf thy faith have no donbts, thou hast just | |
canse to doubt thy faith ; and if thy doubts have | |
no hope, thou hast just reason to fear despair ; | |
when therefore thy donbts shall exercise thy | |
faith, keep thy hopes firm to qualify thy doubts ; | |
so shall thy faith be secured from doubts; so | |
shall thy doubts be preserved from despair.— | |
Quarles. | |
For modes of faith let graceless zealots fight. | |
Pope. | |
In our age faith and charity are fonnd, but | |
they are found apart. We tolerate everybody, | |
becanse we donbt everything ; or else we tole- | |
rate nobody, because we believe something.— | |
Mfrs. E. B. Browning. | |
Man is not made to question, but adore.— | |
Young. | |
In your intercourse with sects, the snb- | |
lime and abstruse doctrines of Christian belief | |
belong to the Chureh ; but the faith of the indi- | |
vidual, centred in his heart, is, or may be, collat- | |
eral to them. Faith is subjective.— Coleridge. | |
Some wish they did ; but no man disbelieves. | |
Young. | |
Never vet did there exist a full faith in the | |
Divine Word (by whom light as well as immor- | |
‘tality was brought into the world) which did | |
not expand the intellect, while it purified the | |
heart, — which did not multiply the aims and | |
objects of the understanding, while it fixed and | |
simplified those of the desires and passions.— | |
Coleridge. | |
There is one inevitable criterion of judg- | |
ment touching religious faith in doctrinal mat- | |
ters. Can yon reduce it to practice? If not, | |
have none of it—Hosea Ballou. | |
166 | |
—_—_——— | |
FAITH. | |
As‘ the flower is before the fruit, so is faith | |
before good works.— Whately. . | |
Lay not the plummet to the line; religion | |
hath -no landmarks; no human keenness can | |
discern the subtle shades of faith— Tupper. | |
Faith is the substance of things hoped for, | |
the evidence of things not seen.— Bille. | |
Faith converses with the angels, and ante- | |
dates the hymns of glory ; every man that hath | |
this grace is as certain that there are glories for | |
him, if he persevere in duty, as if he had heard | |
and sung the thanksgiving song for the blessed | |
sentence of doomsday —Jéereniy Taylor. | |
The inventory of my faith for this lower | |
world is soon made ont. I believe in Him who | |
made it.—iadame Swetchine. | |
Faith is the flame that lifts the sacrifice to | |
heaven.—J. Afoniyomery. | |
Faith without works is like a bird ‘without | |
wings; thotigh she may hop with her compan- | |
ions on earth, yet she will never fly with them | |
to heaven; but when both are joined together, | |
then doth the soul mount up to her eternal rest. | |
J. Beaumont. | |
__ Faith, amid the disorders of a sinful life, is | |
like the lamp burning in an ancient tomb — | |
Madame Swetchine. | |
Faith is the root of all good, works. A root | |
that produces nothing is dead.—Bishop Wilson. | |
I know a courier, swift and sure, who will | |
earry us to the absent,—faith. He knows the | |
road ! have no fear ; he will not stumble or stray, | |
Madame de Gasparin. | |
The steps of faith fall on the seeming void, | |
and find the rock beneath.— JVhittier. | |
Let us fear the worst, but work with faith ; | |
the best will always"take care of itself. | |
Victor Hugo. | |
_ Faith is letting down onr nets into the un- | |
transparent deeps, at the Divine command, not | |
knowing what we’shall take.—Faber. | |
Hare you not observed that faith is gener- | |
ally strongest in-those whose character may be | |
called the weakest ?—Wadame de Staél. | |
Faith affirms many things, respecting which | |
the senses are silent, but nothing that they deny: | |
It is superior, bnt never opposed to their testi- | |
mony.— Pascal. | |
Faith is a homely, private capital; as there | |
rae Pets | |
are'public savings-banks and poor finds, out of | |
which in times of want we can relieve the neces- | |
sities of individuals, so here the faithful take | |
their coin in peace.— Goethe. | |
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FALSEIOOD. | |
167 | |
FALSEHOOD. | |
Love.is a hodily shape; and Christian works | |
“are no more than animate faith and love, us | |
flowers are the animate spring-tide.—Long/ellow. | |
Faith consists in believing things becanse | |
they are impossible. Faith is uothing more than | |
submissive or deferential. ineredulity:— Voltaire. | |
There was never found inany age of the | |
world either philosopher or sect, or law or dis- | |
cipline, whieh did so highly exalt -the public | |
good as the Christian faith.— Bacon. | |
Fnith is the pencil of the sonl, that pictures | |
heavenly things.—Zhomas Burbridge. . | |
Strike from mankind the principle of faith, | |
and men wonld have no more history than a | |
flock of sheep.—Bulcer Lytton. | |
FATSENHOOD. | |
Falschood is susceptible of an infinity of | |
combinations, but truth has only onc mode of | |
being.—Housseau. * | |
There is a sct of harmless liars, frequently | |
to be met with in company, who deal much in | |
the mirvelions. Their usual intention is to | |
tease and entertain; but as men'are most de- | |
Fghted with what they conceive to be the truth, | |
these people mistake the means of pleasing, and | |
incur universal blame.—Zume. ‘ | |
A few men are sufficient to broach false- | |
hoods, which are afterwards innocently diffused | |
by successive relaters.— Johnson. | |
Falschood and death are synonymous.— | |
Bancroft. | |
The gain of lying is nothing else but not to | |
be trasted of any, nor to be believed when we | |
speak the trath.—Sir Valter Raleigh. | |
Past all shame, so past all trnth._— | |
Shakespeare. | |
He who tells a lie is not sensible how great | |
a task he undertakes; for he mnst be forced to | |
invent twenty more to maintain that one.—Pope. | |
Although the Devil be the farher of lies, he | |
seeins, like other great inventors, to have lost | |
much of his reputation by the continual im- | |
provements that have been made upon him.— | |
.. Not the least misfortune in a prominent | |
falschood is the fact that trailition is apt to | |
repeat it for-truth—ZJfosea Ballou. | |
O, what a.goodly outside falsehood hath !— | |
Shakespeare. | |
Falsehood, like poison, will generally be | |
rejected when adininistered alone; but when | |
blended with wholesome ingredients, may be | |
swallowed unperecived.— Whately. | |
Falsehood, like: the dry-rot, flourishes the | |
more in proportion as air and light are excluded. | |
Whately. | |
To tell a falschood is like the cut of'a sabre; | |
for thongh the wound may heal, the sear of it | |
will remain.—Saadi. | |
Falschood avails itself of haste and uncer- | |
tainty. Tacitus. | |
Falschood is never so successful as when she | |
baits her hook with truth, and no opinions | |
so fatally mislead us -as those that arc not | |
wholly wrong, as no watches so effectnally de- | |
ecive the wearer as those that are sometimes | |
right.— Colton. | |
Falschood is cowardice, — truth is conrage. | |
Hosea Ballou. | |
Falschood is difficnlt to be maintained. | |
When the materials of a building are solid | |
blocks of stone, very rude architecture will suf- | |
fice; but a structure of rotten materials needs | |
the most careful adjustment to make it stand at | |
all.— Whately. | |
Cowards tell lics, and those that fear the | |
rod.—Herbert. | |
If there were no falschood in the world, there | |
would be no doubt; if there were no doubt, | |
there would be no inquiry; if no inquiry, no | |
wisdom, no knowledge, no genius.—Landor. | |
Falschood -always endeavored to copy the | |
mien and attitudes of truth. Johnson. | |
A lic should be trampled on and _extin- | |
guished wherever found. Iam for fumigating | |
the atmosphere when I suspect that falsehood, | |
like pestilence, breathes around moe.— Carlyle. | |
Falschoods not only disagree with truths, | |
but usually quarrel among themselves.— | |
: - Danie Webster. | |
Every lic, great or small, is the brink of a | |
precipice, thedepth of which nothing but Om- | |
nis¢ience can fathom.—Rev. Dr. Reade. | |
Woe to falsehood ! it affords no relief to the | |
breast, like truth; it gives us no comfort, pains | |
him who forges it,'and like an arrow dirceted by | |
a god flies back«and wounds-the ‘archer.— | |
Goethe. | |
False modesty is the most decent of all false- | |
hoods.—Cham/fort. | |
Falschood jis fire in stubble;—it likewise | |
turns all the light stuff around it into its own | |
substance for a moment, one crackling, blazing | |
moment, and then dies; and all its contents are | |
scattered in the wind, without place or evidence | |
of their existence, as viewless:as the wind which | |
scatters them.—Coleredye. | |
--- Chunk 2, Page 86 --- | |
FAME. 1 | |
68 FAME. | |
FAME. | |
Fame is an undertaker that pays but litile | |
attention ta the living, but bedizens the dead, | |
furnishes out their funerals, and follows them to | |
the grave.—Colton. | |
Celebrity is the chastisement of merit and | |
the punishment of talent.—Cham/ort. | |
It is the penalty of fame that .a man must | |
ever keep rising. “Get a reputation and then | |
go to bed,” is the absurdest of all maxims. | |
“ Keep up a reputation or go to bed,” would be | |
nearer the truth.— Chapin. | |
Better than fame is still the wish for fame, | |
the constant training for a glorious strife— | |
Bulwer Lytton. | |
Fame often rests at first upon something ac- | |
cidental, and often, too, is swept away, or for a | |
time removed; but neither genius nor glory is | |
,conterred at once, nor do they glimmer and fall, | |
like drops in-a grotto, at a shout.—Zundor. | |
The breath of popular applause.—Herrick. | |
What is fame? The advantage of being | |
known by people of whom you yourself know | |
nothing, and for whom you care as little.— | |
Stanislaus. | |
Unlike the sun, intellectual luminaries shine | |
brightest after they set.— Colton. | |
Those who despise fame seldom deserve it. | |
We are apt to undervalue the purchase we can- | |
not reach, to conceal our poverty thebetter, It | |
is a spark which kindles upon the best fuel, and | |
burns brightest in the bravest breast.— | |
Jeremy Collier. | |
Tt often happens that those of whom we | |
speak least on earth are best known in heaven. | |
N. Caussin. | |
Raised by fortune to a ridiculous visibility. | |
Grattan. | |
To he read by bare inscriptions, like many | |
in Griiter, — to hope for eternity by enigmati- | |
cal epithets or first letters of our names, — to be | | |
studied by antiquarians who we were, and have | |
new names given us like many of the mummies, | |
are cold consolation unto the students of perpe- | |
tuity, even by everlasting languages.— | |
T. Hughes. | |
What a heavy burden is a name that has | |
become too soon famous ! — Voltaire. | |
In itself a shadow. Soon as caught, con- | |
temned; it shrinks to nothing in the grasp. | |
Consult the ambitious, it is ambition’s cure.— | |
Young. | |
To have fame follow us is well, but it is | |
not a desirable avant-courier.— Balzac. | |
The thirst after fame is greater than that af | |
ter virtue; for who embraces virtue if you take | |
away its rewards —Juvenal. | |
Happy indeed the poet of whom, like Or- | |
pheus, nothing is known but an immortal name! | |
Happy next, perhaps, the poet of whom, like | |
Homer, nothing is known but the immortal | |
works. The more the merely human part of | |
the poet remains a mystery, the more willing is | |
the reverence given to his divine mission.— | |
Bulwer Lytton. | |
Fame is a good so wholly foreign to our na- | |
tures that we have no faculty in the soul adapt- | |
ed to it, nor any organ in the body to relish it; | |
an object of desire placed out of the possibility | |
of fruition.— Addison. | |
Though fame is smoke, its fumes are frank- | |
‘incense to human thoughts.—Byron. | |
Fame is the inheritance, not of the dead, but | |
of the living. It is we who look back with | |
lofty pride to the great names of antiquity, who | |
drink of that flood of glory as of a river, and | |
refresh our wings in it for future flight.— Hazlitt. | |
He that will sell his fame will also sell the | |
public interest.—Solon. | |
In fame’s temple there is always a niche to | |
befound for rich dunces, importunate scoundrels, | |
or successful butchers of the human race.— | |
Zimmermann. | |
What is fame? a fancied life in others’ | |
breath.—Pope. | |
Tf opinion hath lighted the lamp of thy name, | |
endeavor to encourage it with thy own oil, | |
lest it go out and stink; the chronical discase | |
of popularity is shame; if thou be once up, be- | |
ware; from fame to infamy is a beaten road. — | |
Quarles. | |
Fame is the perfume of heroic deeds.— | |
Socrates. | |
The fame which bids fair to live the longest | |
resembles that which Horace attributes to Mar- | |
cellus, whose progress he compares-to the silent, | |
imperceptible growth of a tree— 17. B. Chilow. | |
There is no less danger from great fame than | |
from infamy.— Tacitus. | |
Fame is like a river, that beareth up things | |
light and swollen, and drowns things weighty | |
and solid; but if persons of quality and judg- | |
ment conenr, then it filleth all round about, and | |
will not easily away; for thé odors of oint- | |
ments are more durable than those of flowers.— | |
Bacon. | |
Men think highly of those who rise rapidly” | |
in the world; whereas nothing rises quicker | |
than dust, straw, and feathers.—Hare. | |
--- Chunk 2, Page 87 --- | |
FAME. | |
169 | |
FAME. | |
Fame is the shame of immortuiity, and is it- | |
self arshadow.— Young. ‘ | |
Fame is not won on downy phimes nor un- | |
der canopies ; the man who consumes his days | |
without obtaining it leaves such mark of him- | |
self on earth as smoke in air or foani on water. | |
Dante. | |
J awoke one morning and found myself fa- | |
mous.— Byron. | |
It is a very indiscreet and troublesome am- | |
hition which cares so much about fame; about | |
what the world says of us; to be always’ look- | |
ing in the faces of others for approval; to be | |
always anxious about the ctfect of what we do | |
or say; to be always shouting, to hear the | |
echoes of our own voiecs:— Longfellow. | |
Fame, — next grandest word to God! — | |
; Alexander Smith, | |
Tam not covetous for gold; but if it bea | |
sin to covet honor, I am the most offending | |
soul alive.—Shakespeare. | |
If fame is only to come after death, I'am in | |
no hurry for it.—Jurtial. : | |
Fame may be compared to a scold; the best | |
way to silence her is to let her aloue, and: she | |
will at last be out of breath in blowing her own | |
trumpet.—Fuller. | |
Milton neither aspired to present fame, nor | |
even expected it; but (to use his own words) | |
his high ambition was “to Ieave something so | |
written to after ages, that they should not will- | |
ingly let it die.” “And Cato finely observed, he | |
would much rather that posterity should inqnire | |
why no statues were erccted to him, than why | |
they were—Colton. | |
Fame, —a flower upon a dead man’s heart.— | |
Motherwell. | |
A few words upon a tombstone, and the | |
truth of those not to be depended on.—Bovee. | |
The greatest can but blaze,'and pass away.— | |
. Pope. | |
After upwards of two thousand years Epi- | |
eurus has been exonerated from the reproach | |
that the doctrines of his philosophy reeommend- | |
-ed the pleasures of sensuality and voluptuous- | |
“ness as the chief good. Caliumny may rest on | |
genius a considerable part of a world’s duration ; | |
what then is the value of fame ?— | |
W. B. Clulow. | |
The way to fame is like the way to heaven, | |
through muceh tribulation.—Stcele. | |
As the pearl ripens in the obscurity of its | |
shell, so ripens in the tomb all the fame that is | |
truly preclous.—Landor, | |
A man’s heart must be very frivolous if the | |
possession of fame rewards the labor to attain | |
it. For the worst of reputation is that it is not | |
palpable or present, — we do not feel or see or | |
taste it. People praise us beltind our backs, | |
but we hear them not; few befere our faces, | |
and who is not suspicious of the truth of such | |
praise’? —Bulwer Lytton. | |
Tie who wontd acquire fame must not show | |
himself afraid of censure. The dread of censure | |
is the death of yenius.— Sins, | |
To be rich, to be famons? do these profit a | |
year hence, when other names sound Jouder | |
than yours, when you lie hidden away under | |
ground, along with the idle titles engraven on | |
your coftin? But only true love lives after you, | |
follows your memory with secret blessings, | |
or pervades you, and intercedes for you. ‘Won | |
omnis moriar, if, dying, I yet live in a tender | |
heart or two; vor am lost and hopeless, living, | |
if a sainted departed soul still loves and prays | |
for me.—Thackeray. | |
Never get a reputation for a small perfection | |
if you are trying for fame in a loftier area. — | |
Bulwer Lytton, | |
Men’s fame is like their hair, which grows | |
after they ‘are dead, and with just as little use | |
to them.—George Villiers. | |
He lives in fame that died in virtue’s cause.— | |
Shakespeare. | |
There is not in the world so toilsome a trade | |
as fame ; life concludes before you have so much | |
as sketched your work.—Bruyere, | |
Among the writers of all ages, some deserve | |
fame, and have it; others neither have nor de- | |
serve it; some have it, not deserving ; others, | |
though deserving, yet totally miss it, or have it | |
Trot equal to their deserts. —Afilton. | |
What is the end of fame? it is but to fill a | |
certain portion of uncertain paper.—Byron. | |
If a man do not erect in this age his own | |
tomb ere he dies, he’shall live no longer in mon- | |
ument than the bell rings and the widow | |
weeps.— Shakespeare. | |
Who despises fame will soon renounce the | |
virtues that deserve it.—Afullet. | |
Fame is a revenne payable only to our | |
ghosts; and to deny ourselves all present satis- | |
faction, or to expose ourselves to so much liaz- | |
ard for this, were as great madness as to starve | |
ourselves, or fight desperately for food, to be | |
laid on our tombs after onr death.—dfackenzie. | |
Fame is a shuitlecock. If it be struck only | |
at one end of a. room it will saon fall to. the | |
floor. To keep it up, it must be struck at both | |
ends.— Johnson. | |
--- Chunk 2, Page 88 --- | |
FAME. | |
Death makes no conquest of this conqueror ; | |
for now he lives in fame though not in life— | |
Shakespeare. | |
Common fame is the only liar that deserveth | |
to have some respect still reserved to it; though | |
she telleth many an untruth, she often hits | |
right, and most especially when she speaketh ill | |
of men.— Saville. | |
Fame is no plant that grows on mortal | |
soil.—Milton. | |
Of present fame think little and of future | |
less ; the praises that we receive after we -are | |
buried, like the posics that are strewn over onr | |
grave, may be gratifying to the living, but they | |
are nothing to the dead: the. dead are gone | |
either to a place where they hear them not, or | |
where, if they-do, they will despise them.— | |
Colton. | |
‘ | |
The aspiring yonth that fired the Ephesian | |
dome outlives in fame the pious fool that raised | |
it.— Colley Cibber. | |
Fame, they tell you, is air; but without air | |
there-is no life for any; without fame there is | |
none for the best.—Landor. | |
To some. characters, fame is like an intoxi- | |
cating eup placed to the lips, — they do well to | |
turn away from it who fear it will tnrn_ their | |
heads. But to others fame is “love disguised,” | |
the Jove that answers to Jove in its widest, most | |
exalted sense.—dfrs. Juineson. | |
There is no employment in the world so la- | |
borious as that of making to one’s self a great | |
name; life ends before one has searcely made | |
the first rough dranght of his work.—Brayére. | |
To get-a name can happen but to few. A | |
name, even in the most commercial’ nation, is | |
onc of the few things which cannot be bought. | |
It is the free gift of mankind, which must be | |
deserved before it will be granted, and is at | |
last unwillingly bestowed.—Johuson. | |
The only pleasure of fame is that it proves | |
the way to pleasnre; and the more intellectnal | |
our pleasure, the better for the pleasure and for | |
us too.— Byron. | |
Time has 2 doomsday book, upon whose | |
pages he is continually recording illustrious | |
names. But as often as a new name is written | |
there, an old one disappears. Only afew stand | |
in illuminated characters never to be effaced.— | |
Longfellow. | |
I have Jearned to prize the qniet lightning | |
deed, not the applauding thunder at its heels, | |
which men call fame,—Alexander Smith. | |
Of all the possessions of this life fame is the | |
noblest ; when the body has sunk into the dust | |
the great name still lives. Schiller. | |
170 | |
FANATICISM. | |
Your fame is as the grass, whose hue comes | |
and goes, and His might withers it by whose | |
power it sprang from the lap of the earth_— | |
Dante. | |
Men’s evil manners live in brass; their vir- | |
tues we write in water.—Shakespeare. | |
Only the actions of the just smell sweet and | |
blossom in the dust—Jumes Shirley. | |
FAMILIARITY. | |
When a ian becomes familiar with his god- | |
dess, she quickly sinks intoa woman.—_ —~ | |
Addison. | |
The confidant of my vices is my master, | |
though he were my valet.—Goethe. | |
All objects lose by too familiar a view.— | |
Dryden, | |
The ways suited to confidence are familiar | |
to me, but not those that are suited to familiar- | |
ity.—Joubert. | |
Make not thy friends too cheap to thee, nor | |
thyself to thy friend. —/uller. | |
Be thou familiar, but by no means vulgar.— | |
Shakespeare. | |
Familiarities are the aphides that impercep- | |
tibly suck out the juices intended for the germ | |
of love.—Landor. | |
Thongh familiarity may not breed contempt, | |
it takes off the edge of adiniration.— Hazlitt, | |
Familiarity .is 2 suspension of almost‘all the | |
laws of civility, which libertinism has intro- | |
duced into society under the notion of case. | |
Rochefoucauld. | |
Be not too familiar with thy servants; at | |
first it may beget love, but in the end it will | |
breed contempt.— fuller. | |
FANATICISM. | |
Fanaticism is the child of false zeal and of | |
superstition, the father of intolerance and of | |
persecution.—Rev. J. Fletcher.” | |
If you see one cold and vehement at the | |
same time, set him down for'a fanatic.—Lavater. | |
The downright fanatic is nearer to the heart | |
of things than the cool and slippery disputant. | |
Chapin. | |
Fanaticism is such an overwhelming impres- | |
sion of the ideas relating to the fature worlil as | |
disqualifies for the duties of life.—Robert Hall. | |
Fanaticism is a fire, which heats the mind | |
indeed, but heats without purifying. It stimu- | |
lates and ferments all the passions; but it recti- | |
ties none of them.— Warburton. ~ | |
--- Chunk 2, Page 89 --- | |
FANCY. | |
171 | |
FASHION. | |
Everybody knows that fanaticism is religion | |
caricatured ; bears, indeed, about the same re- | |
lation to it that a monkey bears to aman; yet, | |
with many, contempt of fanuticism is received | |
as sure sign of hostility to religion. — Whipple. | |
That can never be reasoned down which was | |
not reasoned up:—/isher sl mes. | |
What is fanaticism to-day is the fashionable | |
erced to-morrow, and trite as the multiplication- | |
table a week after.— Wendell Phillips. | |
The blind fanaticism of one foolish honest | |
man may cause more evil than the wnited efforts | |
of twenty rogues.—Baron de Grimm. | |
FANCY, | |
Fancy is imagination in her youth and | |
adoleseence. Fancy is always execursive; im- | |
agination, not seldom, is sedate.—Landor. | |
Faney, when once brought into religion, | |
knows not where to stop. It is like one of those | |
fiends in old. stories whieh any one could raise, | |
but which, when raised, could never be kept | |
within the magic circle. — Whately. | |
So full of shapes is fancy, that it alone is | |
high-fantastical.— Shakespeare. | |
Most marvellous and enviable is that feeun- | |
dity of fancy which can adorn whatever it | |
touches, which ean invest naked fact and dry | |
reasoning with untooked-for beanty, make flow- | |
erets bloom ‘even on the brow'of the precipice, | |
and, when nothing better can be had, can turn | |
the very substance of rock itself into moss and | |
lichens. This faculty is incomparably the most | |
important for the vivid and attractive exhibition | |
of truth to the minds of men.—Fuller. | |
Fancy rules over two thirds of the universe, | |
the past and-the future, while reality is confined | |
to the present.— Richter. | |
It is the fancy, not the reason of things, that | |
makcs us so uneasy: It is not the place, noy the | |
condition,.but the mind alone, that can make | |
anybody happy or miserable.— L’ Hstrange. | |
Our fancies are more giddy and unfirm, more | |
longing, wavering, sconcr lost and won, than | |
women’s are.— Shakespeare. | |
That queen of error, whom we call fancy | |
and opinion, is the more deceitful becanse she | |
dues not always deceive. -She. would bé the | |
infallible rule of truth if she were the infallible | |
rule of falschood; but being only most. fre- | |
quently in error, she gives no evidence of her real | |
quality, for she marks with the same character | |
both that which is trne and thag which is false. | |
. Pascal. | |
-» Faney restrainet may’ be compared to a | |
fountain, which plays highest by ‘diminishing | |
the aperture.~ Goldsmith: . | |
Tonching everything lightly with the chann | |
of poetry. ~ Lucretius. | |
Nothing is so atrocious .as fancy without | |
taste.— Goethe. . | |
All impediments in fancy’s course arc mo- | |
tives of mere fancy.— Shakespeare. | |
The mere reality of life would he incon- | |
ceivably poor withont the char of fancy, which | |
brings in its bosom, no doubt, ay many vain | |
fears as idle hopes, but lends much oftener to | |
the illusions it calls up a gay flattering hne than | |
one Which inspires terror.— | |
Withelin von Zumboldt. | |
Fancy runs most furiously when-a guilty | |
conscience drives it— Fuller. | |
Fancy has an extensive influence in morals. | |
Some of the most powerfut‘and dangerous feel- | |
ings in natnre, as those of ambition and envy, | |
derive their principal nonrishinent from a cause | |
apparently so trivial. Its effect on the common | |
attuirs of life is greater than might be supposed. | |
Nakeil reality would searcely keep the world in | |
motion. — IV. B. Clulow. | |
Every fancy you consult, consult your puyse. | |
. Frankia. | |
Every fancy that we would substitute for a | |
reality is, if we saw aright, and saw the whole, | |
not only false, but every way Jess beantiful and | |
exccllent than that which we sacrifice to it— | |
Sterling. | |
Fancy borrows much from memory,:and so | |
looks back to the past.— Ruffini. | |
When my way is too rough for my feet, or | |
too steep for my strength, I get off it to some | |
smooth velvet path which fancy has scattered | |
over ‘with rosebuds of delights; and, having | |
taken ‘a few turns‘in it, come back strengthened | |
and refreshed.—Sterne. | |
A fretful faney is constantly flinging its pos- | |
sessor into gratuitous tophets.— IW. R. Alger. | |
FAREWELL. | |
For in that word, that fatal word, however | |
we promise, hope, believe, there breathes” de- | |
spair.— Byron. . | |
Where thon art gone, adiens and farewells | |
are a sound unknown. Cowper. | |
The bitter word, which closed all earthly | |
friendships, and finished every feast of love, — | |
farewell. — Pollok. | |
FASHION. | |
Seest thou not, I say, what a deformed thicf | |
this fashion is, how piddily he tirns about all | |
the hot bloods between “fourteen: and fiye-and- | |
thirty ¢ —Shakespeare. . | |
--- Chunk 2, Page 90 --- | |
FASHION. | |
172 | |
FASHION. | |
Fashion is a tyrant from which nothing frees | |
us. We must suit ourselves to its fantastic | |
tastes. But being compelled to live under its | |
foolish laws, the wise man is never the first to | |
follow, nor the last to keep it.—Pascal. | |
The fashion doth wear out more apparel | |
than the man.—Shakespeare. | |
Fashion is gentility running away from vul- | |
garity, and afraid of being overtaken by it. It | |
is a sign the two things are not far asunder.— | |
Hazlitt. | |
The secret of fashion is to surprise and nev- | |
er to disappoint.—Bulwer Lytton. | |
Thus grows up fashion, an equivocal sem- | |
blance, the most puissant, the most fantastic | |
and frivolous, the most feared and followed, and | |
which morals and violence assault in vain.— | |
Emerson. | |
Fashion is only the attempt to realize art in | |
living forms and social intereourse.—Holimes. | |
Without depth of thonght or earnestness of | |
feeling or strength of purpose, living an unreal | |
life, sacrificing substance to show, substituting | |
the fictitious for the natural, mistaking a crowd | |
for sovicty, finding its chief pleasure in ridicule, | |
and exhausting its ingenuity in expedients for | |
killing time, fashion is among the last influ- | |
enees under whieh-a human being who respeets | |
himself, or who comprehends the great end of | |
life, would desire to be placed —Channing. | |
Fashion seldom mterferes with nature with- | |
out diminishing her grace and efficiency.— | |
Tuckerman. | |
The mere leader of fashion has no genuine | |
claim,to supremacy ; at least, no abiding assur- | |
ance of it. He has embroidered his title upon | |
his waisteoat, and carries his worth in his watch- | |
chain ; and if he is allowed any real precedence | |
for this it is almost a moral swindle, ~ a way of | |
obtaining goods under false pretences,— Chapin. | |
A fop of fashion is the mereer’s friend, the | |
tailor’s fool, and his own foe.—Lavater. | |
Manners have been somewhat cynieally de- | |
fined to be a contrivance of wise men to keep | |
fools at a distance. Fashion is shrewd to detect | |
those who do not belong to her train, and sel- | |
dom wastes her attentions. Society is very | |
swift in its instinets, and if you do not belong | |
to it, resists and sneers at you, or quietly drops | |
you.— Emerson. | |
Change of fashions is the tax Which industry | |
imposes on the vanity of the rieh.— Cham/ort. | |
Fashion is a great restraint upon your per- | |
sons of taste and fancy ; who wonld otherwise | |
in the most trifling instances be able to distin- | |
guish themselves from the vulgar.— Shenstone. ~ | |
Fashion is the veriest goddess of semblance | |
and of shade; to be happy is of far less eonse- | |
quence to her worshippers than to appear so; | |
even pleasure itself they sacrifice to parade, and | |
enjoyment to ostentation.— Colton. | |
Fashion is, for the most part, nothing but | |
the ostentation of riches.—Locke. | |
Fashion being the art of those who must | |
purchase notice at some cheaper rate than that of | |
being beautiful, loves to do rash and extrava- | |
gant things. She must be forever new, or she | |
becomes insipid.— Lovell. | |
Women cherish fashion because it rejuve- | |
nates them, or at least renews them.— | |
Bladame de Preizeux. | |
Those who seem to lead the public taste are, | |
in general, merely outrunning it in the direction | |
whieh it is spontaneously pursuing.—J/acaulay. | |
We onght always to conform to the manners | |
of the greater number, and so behave as not to | |
draw attention to ourselves. Excess either way | |
shocks,-and every man truly wise ought to at- | |
tend to this in his dress as well as language, | |
never to he affected in anything, and follow | |
without being in too great haste the changes of | |
fashion.—oliére. | |
Every generation laughs at the old fashions, | |
but follows religiously the new.— Thoreau. | |
I have been told by persons of experience in | |
matters of taste, that the fashions follow a law | |
of gradation, and are never arbitrary. The | |
new mode is always only a step onward in the | |
same direetion as the last mode; and -a culti- | |
vated eye is prepared for and predicts the new | |
fashion. — Emerson. | |
We are tanght to clothe our minds, as we | |
do our bodies, after the fashion in vogue ; and it | |
is accounted fantastical, or something worse, | |
not to do so.—Locke. | |
Where doth the world thrust forth a vanity | |
(so it be new, there is no respect how vile) that | |
is not quickly buzzed into the ears ? — | |
Shakespeare. | |
It is the rule of rules, and the general law of | |
all laws, that every person should observe those | |
of the place where he is.—Jfontaagne. | |
He alone is a man who can resist the genius | |
of the age, the tone of fashion with vigorons | |
simplieity and modest courage.—Lavater. | |
Fashion is the science of appearances, and | |
it inspires one with the desire to seem rather | |
than to be.—Chapin. | |
There would not be so much harm in the | |
giddy following the fashions, if somehow the | |
wise could always set them.—Bovee. | |
--- Chunk 2, Page 91 --- | |
FATE. | |
173 | |
FAULTS. | |
Avoid singularity. There may often be less | |
vanity in following the new modes than in_ad- | |
hering to the old ones. It is true that the fool- | |
ish invent them, but the wise may conform to, | |
instead of contradieting them.—Joubert. | |
FATE. | |
What fates impose, that men must needs | |
abide ; it boots not to resist. both wind and tide. | |
Shakespeare. | |
God overrules all mutinous‘aceidents, brings | |
them under his laws of fate, and makes them all | |
serviceable to his purpose.—A/areus Antoninus. | |
Heaven from all creatures hides the book of | |
fate.—Pope. 7 | |
The world throws its life into a hero or a | |
shepherd, and puts him where he is wanted. | |
Dante and Colimubus were Italians in their; | |
time ; they would be Russians or Americans to- | |
day.—L£merson. | |
Fate whirls on the hark, and the rongh | |
gale sweeps from the rising tide the lazy calm | |
of thought.—Bulwer Lytton. | |
All things are in fate, yet all things are not | |
decreed by fate —Plato. | |
“ Whosoever quarrels with his fate, does not | |
understand it,” says Bettine; and among all: | |
her inspired sayings, she spoke none wiser.— | |
" Mrs. L. M. Child. | |
There is a divinity that shapes our ends, | |
rough-hew them how we will.—Shakespeare. | |
What must be shall be; and that which is | |
a necessity to him that struggles is little more | |
than choice to him that is willing.—Seneca. | |
It is the best use of fate to teach a fatal | |
courage. Go fiee the fire at sea, or the cholera | |
in your friend’s house, or the burglar in your | |
own, or what danger lies in the way of duty, | |
knowing you are guarded by the cherubim of | |
destiny. If you bélieve in fate to your harm, | |
believe it, at least, for sour good —Emerson. | |
Fate hath no voice but the heart’s impulses. | |
chiller. | |
All things are hy fate, but poor blind man | |
sees hut a part of the chain, the nearest link, | |
his eyes not carrying to that equal beam that | |
poises all above. —Dryden. | |
The crown of manhood is a winter joy ; an | |
evergreen, that stands the northern blast, and | |
blossoms in the rigor of our fate— Young. ~ | |
Whatever may happen to thee, it was pre- | |
pared for thee from all eternity ; and_ the impli- | |
eation of causes was from eternity spinning the | |
thread of thy, being and of that which is inci- | |
ilent-to it.—Mareus Antoninus. | |
{) | |
But, O vain boast! who can control his | |
fate 4 —Shakespeare. | |
Astrict belief in fate is the worst of slavery ; | |
imposing upon our necks an everlasting lord or | |
tyrant, whom we are to stand in awe of night | |
and day ; on the other hand, there is some com- | |
fort that God will be moved by our prayers ; | |
but this imports an inexorable necessity.— | |
Lpicuras. | |
Fate-with impartial hand turns ont the doom | |
of high and low ; her capacions urn is constantly | |
shaking the names of all mankind.—/forace. | |
Fate is the friend of the good, the guide of | |
the wise, the tyrant of the foolish, the enemy of | |
the bad.—1V. RB. Alger. | |
FAULTS. | |
We are often more agrecahle through our | |
“faults than through our good qualities. — | |
Rochefoucauld. | |
a | |
If the best man’s faults were written on his | |
forehead, he would draw his hat over his eyes. | |
Tay. | |
He who exhibits no faults is a fool or a | |
hypocrite, whom we should mistrust. There | |
are faults so intimately connected with fine | |
qualitics that they indicate them, and we do | |
well not to correct them.—./oubert. | |
It is his natnre’s plague to spy into abuses; | |
and oft his jealousy shapes faults that are not. | |
Shakespeare. | |
There are some fanlts which, when well | |
managed, make a greater figure than virtue it- | |
self.—Rochefoucauld, | |
It is not so much the being exempt from | |
faults as the having overcome them that is an | |
advantage to us; it being with the follies of the | |
mind as with weeds of a field, which, if destroyed | |
and consumed upon the place where they grow, | |
enrich and improve it more than if none had | |
ever sprung there.— Swift. . | |
Only those faults which we encounter in | |
ourselves are insufferable to us in others.— | |
Madame Swetchine. | |
Why do we discover faults so much more | |
readily than perfections ? —Jfudame de Sévigné. | |
Had we not faults of onr own we should | |
take less pleasure in observing those of others. | |
Rochefoucauld. | |
If we were faultless, we should not be so | |
mnch annoyed hy the defects of those with | |
whom we associate. If we were to acknowledge | |
honestly that we have not virtne enongh to bear | |
patiently with our neighhbor’s weaknesses, we | |
should ‘show, our own’ imperfection, and this | |
alarms our vanity.—Fenelon. | |
--- Chunk 2, Page 92 --- | |
FEAR. | |
dust as you are pleased at finding faults, | |
you are displeased at finding perfections.— | |
Lavater. | |
Best men oft are moulded out of faults.— | |
Shakespeare. | |
He shall be immortal who liveth till he be | |
stoned by one without fault.—Fuller. ~ | |
FEAR. | |
Why, what should be the fear? I do not set | |
my life'at a pin’s fee; and for my soul, what | |
can it do to that, being a thing immortal ?— | |
Shakespeare. | |
All the passions seck that which nourishes | |
them; fear loves the idea of danger.—Joubert. | |
Man begins life helpless. The babe is in | |
aroxysms of fear the moment its nurse leaves | |
it alone, and it eomes so slowly to any power | |
of self-protection that mothers say the salva- | |
tion of the life and health of a‘young child is a | |
perpetual miracle.—merson. | |
A certain degree of fear produces the same | |
effects as rashness.—Cardinal de Retz. | |
Fear hath the common fault of a justice of | |
peace, and is apt to conclude hastily from | |
every slight circumstance, without examining | |
the evidence on both sides.— fielding. | |
T rather tell thee what is to be feared than | |
what I fear; for always I am Czsar— | |
Shakespeare. | |
Noiseless as fear in a wide wilderness.— | |
Keats. | |
Such as are in immediate fear of losing | |
their estates, of banishment, or of slavery, live | |
in perpetual anguish, and lose all appetite and | |
repose; whereas such as are aetually poor | |
slaves and exiles oftentimes live‘as merrily as | |
men in a better condition; and so many peo- | |
le who, impatient of the perpetual alarms of | |
ear, have hanged and drowned themselves | |
give us sufficiently to understand that it is | |
more importunate and insupportable than death | |
itself. —Aontaigne. | |
at | |
Fear has many eyes.— Cervantes. | |
Fear nothing but what thy industry may | |
prevent; be contident of nothing but-what for- | |
tune cannot defeat; it is no less folly to fear | |
what is impossible to be avoided than to be | |
secure when there is a possibility to be deprived. | |
Quarles. | |
Of all base passions, fear is most accursed. — | |
Shakespeare. | |
We must be afraid of neither poverty nor | |
exile nor imprisonment; of fear itself only | |
should we be afraid.— Epictetus. | |
174 | |
FEAR. | |
I feel my sinews slackened with the fright, | |
and a cold sweat trills down all over my limbs, | |
as if I were dissolving into water.—Dryden. | |
From the moment fear begins I have ceased | |
to fear.—Schiller. | |
In morals what begins in fear usually ends | |
in wickedness ; in. religion what begins in fear | |
usually ends in fanaticism. Fear, cither as a | |
principle or a motive, is the beginning of all | |
evil.—Afrs. Jameson. | |
In time we hate that which we often fear— | |
Shakespeare. | |
Fear guides more fo their duty than grati- | |
tude; for one man who is virtuous from the | |
love of virtue, from the obligation which he | |
thinks he lies under to the Giver of all, there | |
are ten thousand who are good only from their | |
apprehension of punishment.— Goldsmith. | |
Present fears are less than horrible imagin- | |
ings.—Shakespeare. | |
Fear is implanted in us as a preservative | |
from evil; bnt its duty, like that of other pas- | |
sions, is not to overbear reason, but to assist | |
it; nor should it be suffered to tyrannize in | |
the imagination, to raise phantoms of horror, | |
or to beset life with supernumerary distresses.— | |
Johnson. | |
Nothing ronts us but the villany of our | |
fears.— Shakespeare. | |
The thing in the world I am most afraid of | |
is fear; and with good reason, that, passion | |
alone, in the trouble of it, exeeeding all other | |
accidents.— Montaigne. | |
Fear always springs from ignorance.— | |
Emerson. | |
In every mind.where there is a strong ten- | |
dency to fear there is a strong capacity to hate. | |
Those. who dwell in fear dwell next door to | |
hate; and I think it is the cowardice of women | |
which makes them such intense haters.— | |
Mrs. Jameson. | |
We often pretend to fear what we really | |
despise, and more often to despise what we | |
really fear.—Colton. | |
God planted fear in the soul as trily as he | |
planted hope or courage. Fear is a kind of | |
bell, or gong, which rings the mind into quick | |
life and avoidance upon the approach of danger. | |
It is the soul’s signal for rallying —Beecher. | |
Nothing is to be feared but fear.—Bacon. | |
Nothing is se rash as fear; and.the counsels | |
of pusillanimity very rarely put off, whilst they | |
are always sure to aggravate, the evils from | |
which they would fly.—Burke. | |
--- Chunk 2, Page 93 --- | |
FEELINGS. 175 | |
FICKLENESS. | |
Good men have the fewest fears. He has | |
but one grent fear who fears to do wrong; he | |
has’ a thousand who has overeote it.— Bovee. | |
_ | |
Fear is far more painful to cowardice than | |
death to true conrage.—Sir P. Sidney. | |
"Pear -never was a friend to the love of God | |
or man, to duty or conscience, truth, probity, or | |
honor. It therefore can never make a good | |
subject, a good citizen, or a good soldier, and, | |
least of all, a good-Christian ; except the devils, | |
who believe and tremble; are to be accounted | |
good Christians.—Z/enry Brooke. | |
There is great beauty in going through life | |
fearlessly. Half our fears are baseless, the | |
other half disereditable.—Bonce. | |
Fear is the mother of foresight.— | |
Henry Taylor. | |
In how large a proportion of creatures is ex- | |
istenee composed of one ruling passion, the | |
most agonizing of all sensations, — fear.— | |
Bulwer Lytton. | |
There is nothing so ingenious as fear; it is | |
even more ingenious than hatred, especially | |
when its concern is with the preservation of | |
money.— Bayle St. John. | |
Early_and provident fear is the mother of | |
safety.— Burke. | |
Fear sometimes adds wings to the heels, and | |
sometimes nails them to the ground, and fetters | |
them from moving.— Vontaigne. | |
There is no fear in love; but perfect love | |
easteth out fear, because fear hath torment.— | |
Bible. | |
Fearfulness, contrary to all other vices, | |
maketh a man think the better of another, the | |
worse of himself Sir P. Sidney. | |
Fear is the white-lipped -sire of subterfuge | |
and treachery.—J/rs. Sigourney. | |
Shun fear, it.is the ague of the sont! ‘apas- | |
sion man created for himself, —for sure that | |
eramp of nature could not dwell in the warm | |
realnis of glory.—Aaron IHill. | |
FEELINGS. oo. | |
Feelings arc like chemicals, — the more you | |
analyze them the worse they smell. So it is | |
best not to stir them up very much, only enough | |
to convince one’s self that. they are offensively | |
wrong, and then look away as far as possible, | |
ont of one’s self, for a purifying power; and | |
that we know can only come from Him who | |
holds onr hearts in his hands, and can turn us | |
whither he will.—Charles Aingsley. | |
The feelings, like flowers and butterflies, | |
last Jonger the later they are delayed.—Wichter. | |
A word,:a look, which at one time wonld | |
make no impression, ut another time wonnds | |
the henrt; und like a shift flying with the | |
wind, pierces deep, which, with its own natural | |
foree, wonld scarce have reached the object | |
nimed at.—Sterne. | |
When the heart is still agitated by the re- | |
mains of 1 prssion, we.are more ready to reecive | |
a new one than when we are entirely cured.— | |
Rochefoucauld. | |
Every human feeling is greater and larger | |
than the exciting cause.— Coleridye. | |
Some. feelings are quite untranslatable; no | |
language has yet been fonnd for them. They | |
gleam upon us beantifully throngh the dim | |
twilight of fancy, und yet when we bring them | |
close to us, and hold them up to the light of | |
reason, lose their beanty all ‘at, once, as glow- | |
worms which gleam with such a spiritual light | |
in the shadows of evening, when brought in | |
where the candles ‘are lighted, are found to be | |
only worms like so many others.—Longfellow. | |
Feelings come and go like light troops fot. | |
lowing the victory of the present; but princi- | |
ples, like troops of the line, are undisturbed, | |
and stand fast.—Hiehter. | |
Life is a comedy to him who thinks, and a | |
tragedy to him who feels—ZZorace Walpole. | |
Fine feclings, withont vigor of reason, are in | |
the situation of the extreme feathers of a pea- | |
cock’s tail, — dragging in the mud.— | |
John Foster. | |
Onr feelings were given us to excite to ac- | |
tion, and when they end in themselves, they are | |
impressed to_no one good purpose that I know | |
of.—Biskop Sandford. | |
The heart that is soonest awake to the | |
flowers is always the,first to be touched by the | |
thorns.—Afoore. | |
FICKLENESS. | |
There are three things a wise man will not | |
trust, — the wind, the sunshine of an Apvil day, | |
‘and woman’s plighted faith.—Southey. | |
He wears his faith but as the fashion of his | |
hat; it ever changes with the next block.— | |
Shakespeare. | |
We are all of us, in this world, more or less | |
like St. January, whom the inhabitants of | |
Naples worship one day, and pelt with baked | |
apples the next.—Aludame Swetchine. | |
It is plain there is not in nature a point of | |
stability to be found; everything cither:ascends | |
or declines; when wars are eniled abroad, se- | |
dition begins at home; .and when men are | |
freed from fyshting for necessity, they quarrel | |
through ambition.—Sir Walter Raleigh. | |
--- Chunk 2, Page 94 --- | |
FICTION. | |
Fickleness has its rise in the experience of | |
the fallucionsness of present pleasures, and in | |
the ignorance of the vanity of absent pleasures. | |
Pascal. | |
The uncertain glory of an April day.— | |
Shakespeare. | |
O perilons mouths, that bear in them one | |
and the self-same tongue, either of commenda- | |
tion or approof! bidding the law make courtesy | |
to their will; hooking both right and wrong to | |
the appetite, to follow as it draws ! — | |
Shakespeare. | |
Unstable as water, thou shalt not excel.— | |
Bible. | |
Trresolution loosens all the joints of a state; | |
like an ague, it shakes not this or that limb, | |
but all the hody is at once in a fit. The irreso- | |
Jute man is lifted from one place to another, and | |
hath no place left to rest on. He flecks from | |
oue eg to another; so hatcheth nothing, but | |
addles all his actions.—Feltham. | |
FICTION. | |
Man is a poetical animal, and delights in | |
fiction. —Hazlitt. | |
Addison acknowledged that he would rather | |
inform than divert his reader ; but he recollected | |
that a man must be familiar with wisdom before | |
he willingly enters on Seneca and Epictetus. | |
Fiction alltres him to the severe task by a gayer | |
preface. Embellished truths are the illuminated | |
alphabet of larger children. —}Villmott. | |
FIDELITY. | |
Fidelity is the sister of justice —Horace. | |
I am constant as the Northern Star, of | |
whose true-fixed and resting quality there is no | |
fellow in the firmament.—Shukespeare. | |
There is a third silent party to all our bar- | |
gains. The nature and soul of things takes on | |
itself the guaranty of the fulfihnent of every | |
contract, so that honest service cannot come to | |
loss. If you serve an ungrateful master, serve | |
him the more. Put God m your debt. Every | |
stroke shall be repaid. The longer the pay- | |
ment is withholden, the better for you ; for com- | |
pound interest on compound interest is the rate | |
and usage of this exchequer.—-Emerson. | |
It is more difficult for a man to be faithful | |
to his mistress when he is favored than when he | |
ig ill treated by her. —Rochefoucauld. | |
Trust reposed in noble natures obliges them | |
the more.—Dryden. | |
Tt goes a great way towards making a man | |
faithful, to let him understand that you think | |
him so, and he that does but so much as suspect | |
that I will deceive him gives me a sort of right | |
to cozen him.~-Seneca. | |
176 | |
FLATTERY. | |
Nothing is more noble, nothing more venera- | |
ple than fidelity. Faithfulness and truth are the | |
most sacred exee)lences and endowments of the | |
human mind.—Cicero. | |
FIRMNESS. | |
Firmness, both in sufferance and exertion, | |
is a character which I would wish to posséss. | |
I have always despised the whining yelp of | |
complaint, and the cowardly feeble resolve.— | |
Burns. | |
When firmness is sufficient, rashness is un- | |
necessary.— Napoleon. | |
It is only persons of firmness that can have | |
real gentleness ; those who appear gentle are in | |
general only of a weak character, which casily | |
changes into asperity.—Rochefoucauld. | |
Firmness of purpose is one of the most | |
necessary sinews of character, and onc of the | |
best instruments of success. Without it, genius | |
wastes its efforts in a maze of inconsistencies.— | |
Chester field. | |
Rely on principles ; walk erect and free, not | |
trusting to bulk of body, like a wrestler; for | |
one should not be unconquerable in the sense | |
that an ass is. Who thea is unconquerable ? | |
He whom the inevitable cannot overcome.— | |
Epictetus.» | |
I know no real worth but that tranquil firm- | |
ness which seeks dangers by duty, and braves | |
them without rashness.—Stanislaus. | |
FLATTERY. | |
Men find it more easy to flatter than to | |
praise.—Richter. | |
Know thyself, thy evil as thy good, and | |
flattery shall not harm thee; yea, her speech | |
shall be a warning, a humbling, and a guide. | |
For wherein thou lackest most, there chiefly | |
‘will the syeophant commend thee.—T upper. | |
O that men’s ears should be to counsel deaf, | |
but not to flattery ! —Shakespeare. | |
Of all wild beasts, preserve me from a ty- | |
rant; and of all tame —a flatterer.— | |
Ben Jonson. | |
Flatterers are the worst kind of traitors, for | |
they will strengthen thy imperfeetions, encour- | |
age thee in al] evils, correct thee in nothing, | |
but so shadow and paint thy follies and vices | |
as thou shalt never, by their will, discover good | |
from evil, or vice from virtue.— | |
Sir Walter Raleigh. | |
A man finds no sweeter voice in all the | |
world than that which chants his praise.— | |
Fontenelle. | |
If any man flatters me, I'll flatter him again, | |
though he were my best friend.—Franklin. | |
--- Chunk 2, Page 95 --- | |
FLATTERY. | |
It is scarcely credible to what degree diseern- | |
ment mnay be dazzled by the mist of pride, and | |
wisdom infatuated by the intoxicasion of flat | |
tery; or how low the genius_may descend by | |
successive gradations of servility, and how swift- | |
ly it may fall down the precipice of falschood.— | |
Johnson, | |
If we would not flatter ourselves, the flattery | |
of others could not harm us.—Rochefoucauld. | |
Flattery, though, a base coin,.is the-neees- | |
sary pocket.money at court ;7 where, by cnstom | |
and consent, it has obtained such 9 currency | |
that it is no longer @ fraudulent, but a legal | |
payment.— Chesterfield. | |
Fiattery is the bellows blows up sin; the | |
thing the which is flattered, but a spark, to | |
which the blast gives heat and stronger glowing. | |
Shakespeare. | |
One wonld scarce ever be pleased if he did | |
not flatter himselfi— Rochefoucauld. | |
Fiattery corrupts both the receiver -and the | |
giver; and:adulation is not‘of more service to | |
the people than to kings.—Burke. | |
There is nothing which so poisons princes | |
as flattery, nor anything whereby wicked men | |
more easily obtain credit and favor with them. | | |
Montaigne. | |
Let the passion of flattery be ever so inor- | |
dinate, the snpply can keep pace with the de- | |
mand, and in the world’s great market, in which | |
wit and folly drive their bargains with each | |
177 | |
FLATTERY. | |
——— | |
Nothing is so great an instance of ill-man- | |
ners as flattery. Hf you flatter all the company, | |
yon.please none ; if you flatter only one or two, | |
you-allront the rest.—Swif?. | |
Applause is of too coarse a nainre to be | |
swallowed in the gross, though the extract or | |
tincture be ever so agrecabile.— Shenstone. | |
Fiattery is like ‘a painted ‘armor, designed | |
for show. and not for use.—Socrates. | |
Flatterers of every age resemble those Afri- | |
can tribes of which the credulous Pliny speaks, | |
who made men, animals, and even plants perish, | |
while fascinating them with praises.—Aichter. | |
We sometimes think we hate flattery, when | |
we only hate the manner in which we have been | |
flattered. —Rochefoucauld. | |
Imitation is the sincerest of flattery. —Colton. | |
It is better to fall among crows than flat- | |
terers ; for those devour the dead only, these the | |
living.—Antisthenes. " | |
The flattercr easily insinuates ‘himsclf into | |
the closet, while honest merit_stands shivering | |
in the hall or antechamber.—Jane Porter. . | |
We must define flattery and praise; they | |
are distinct. Trajan was enconraged to virtne | |
by the panegyric of Pliny; Tiberius became ob- | |
stinate in vice from the flattery of the’scnators. | |
Louis the Sixteenth. | |
There is not one of us that would not be | |
other, there are traders of all sorts.— Cumberland. « worse than kings, if so continually carrupted ‘as | |
No man flatters the woman he truly loves.— | |
Tuckerman. | |
Hold! | |
virtue! Who flatters is of -all mankind the | |
lowest, save he who courts the flattery.— | |
Hannah More. | |
A flatterer is the shadow of a fool.— | |
flattercrs. | |
they are with a sort of vermin called | |
. sontaigne. | |
Some indecd there are, who profess to de- | |
No adulation; it is the death of spise all flattery, but even these are, neverthe- | |
less, to be flattered, by being told that they | |
+ do despise it.—Colton. | |
No flattery, boy! an honest man cannot live | |
by it; it is a little, sneaking art, which knaves | |
Str Thomas Overbury. | use-to cajole and soften fools withal.— Otway. | |
To be flattered is grateful, even when we | |
know that our praises are not believed by those | |
whopronotnce them ;"for they prove at least | |
our power, and show that our favor is -valned, | |
since it is purchased by the meanness of false- | |
hood.—/ohnson. | |
Flattery is no more than what raises in a | |
man’s mind ah idea of a preference which he | |
has not.—Durke. | |
Delicions essence! how refreshing art thon | |
to nature! how'strongly are all its powers and | |
all its weaknesses on thy side! how sweetly | |
dost thon mix with the’ blood, and help it | |
through the most difficult‘and tortuous passages | |
to the heart !—Sterne. | |
No visor does become black villany so well | |
‘as soft-and tender flattery.— Shakespeare. | |
Allow no man to be so free with yon as to | |
praise yon to your face. Your vanity by this | |
means will want its food. Av-the same time | |
your passion for esteem will he more-fully grati- | |
fied; men will praise yon" in their-actions ; | |
where you now receive one compliment, you | |
will then receive twenty civilities.—Steele, | |
Flattery is like base coin; it impoverishes | |
him who receives it.—Afadame Voillez. | |
The rich man despises those who flatter him | |
‘too much; and ‘hates those who do not flatter | |
him at all.—Talleyrand. | |
--- Chunk 2, Page 96 --- | |
FLATTERY. | |
178 | |
FLATTERY. | |
There is no detraction worse than to over- | | |
praise a man, for if his worth prove short of | |
what report doth speak of him, his own actions | |
are ever giving the lie to his honor—Feltham. | |
When-I tell him he hates flatte , he says he | |
does, being then most flattered —Shakespeare. | |
There.is no flattery so adroit or effectual as | |
that of implicit assent.— Hazlitt. | |
Give me flattery, — flattery the food of | |
courts, that I may rock him, and Inll him in | |
the down of his desires. —Beaumont. | |
Not kings alone,—the people, too, have | |
I must be tolerably sure, before I congratu-~ their flatterers —ALivabedu. | |
late men upon a blessing, that they have really | |
received one.—Burke. | |
Tf yon had told Sycorax that her son Cali- | |
ban was as handsome as Apollo, she would | |
have been pleased, witch as she was.— | |
Thackeray. | |
Among all the diseases of the mind, there is | |
not one more epidemical or more pernicious | |
than the love of flattery.— Steele. | |
The lie that flatters I abhor the most.— | |
; Cowper. | |
Praise not people -to their faces, to the end | |
that they may pay thee in‘the same coin. This | |
is so thin a cobweb that it may with little diffi- | |
culty be seen through; it is rarely strong enough | |
to catch flies of any considerable magnitnde.— | |
Fuller. | |
Flatterers are the bosom enemies of princes. | |
South. | |
A flatterer is said to be-a beast that biteth ! | |
smiling. But it is hard to know them from — | |
friends, they are so obsequions and full of prd- | |
testations; for as a wolf resembles a dog, so | |
doth-a flatterer a friend —Sir Welter Raleigh. | |
Flattery, which was formerly.a viee, is now | |
grown into a eustom.—Publins Syrus. | |
Beware of «flattery; it is «@ flowery weed | |
which oft offends the yery idol vice whose shrine | |
it would perfume.—Fenton. | |
The ‘most dangerous of all flattery is the | |
inferiority of those about us.— | |
Madame Swetchine. | |
Adroit observers will find that some who | |
affect to dislike flattery may yet be flattered | |
indircetly by a well-seasoned abuse and ridicule | |
of their rivals.—Colton. | |
The love of flattery in most men proceeds | |
from the mean opinion they have of themselves ; | |
in women, from the contrary. — Swift. | |
There is no tongue that flatters like a lov- | |
er’s; and yet in the exaggeration of his feelings | |
flattery seems to him commonplace. Strange | |
and prodigal exuberance, whieh soon. exhausts | |
itself by overflowing —Bulwer Lytton. | |
Men are like stone jugs,— you may Ing them | |
where you like by the ears—Johnson. | |
Flattery is often a traffic of mutual mean- | |
ness where,-althongh both parties intend decep- | |
tion, neither are-deceived ; since words that cost | |
little "are exchanged for hopes that cost less. | |
But we must be careful how we flatter fools too | |
little, or wise men too much; for the flatterer | |
must act the very reverse of the physician, and | |
administer the strongest dose only to the weak- | |
est patient.—Colton. | |
Flatterers are the worst kind of enemies— | |
Tacitus. | |
It requires but little acquaintance with the | |
heart to know that woman’s first wish is to be | |
handsome; and that, consequently, the readicst | |
method of ohtaining. her kindness is to praise | |
her beauty.—Johnson. | |
The most ‘skilful flattery is to let a person | |
talk on, and be a-listener.— Addison. | |
Meddle not with him that flattereth with his | |
lips.—Bible. | |
Flatiery is an ensnaring quality, and leaves | |
a very dangerous impression. It swells a man’s | |
imagination, entertains his-vanity, and drives | |
him to a-doting upon-his own persou.— | |
Jeremy Collier. | |
A fool flatters himself, a wise man flatters | |
the fool —Bulwer Lytton. : | |
The most subtle flattery that a woman can | |
receive is .that conveyed by actions, not by | |
words.—Madame Necker. | |
Parent of wicked, bane of honest deeds. — | |
Prior. | |
Christian! thon knowest thou carriest gun- | |
powder’ about thee. Desire them that carry | |
fire to keep at a distance. It is a dangerous | |
crisis, when a proud heart meets with flattering | |
lips.—Flavel. | |
‘When flatterers meet the Devil goes to din- | |
ner.—De Foe. | |
People generally despise where they flatter, | |
and eringe to those they wonld gladly overtop ; | |
so that truth and ceremony are two things.— | |
“Barcus Antoninus. | |
It hath been well said that the arch-flatterer, | |
with whom all the petty flatterers have intelli- | |
gence, is a man’s self—Bacon. | |
--- Chunk 2, Page 97 --- | |
FLOWERS. | |
179 | |
FLOWERS. | |
Flattery is never so agreeable as to our | |
blind side. Commend .a fool for his wit, or a | |
knave for his honesty, and they will receive you | |
into their bosoins.—/telding. | |
FLOWERS. | |
Sweet flowers are slow, and weeds make | |
haste:—Shakespeure. - | |
How the universal heart of man_ blesses | |
flowers! They are wreathed round the cradle, | |
the inarriage altar, and ‘the tomb. ~The Persian | |
in the far East delights in their perfume, and | |
writes his love in nosegays; while the Indian | |
child of the far West claps his hands with glee | |
as he gathers the abundant blossoms, — the | |
illuminated scriptures of the prairies. The eu- | |
pid of the ancient Hindoos tipped his arrows | |
with flowers, ‘and orange flowers are a bridal | |
crown with. us, 2 nation of yesterday.— | |
Mrs. L. Af. Child. | |
The budding rose above the rose full blown. | |
Wordsworth. | |
The instinctive and universal-taste of man- | |
kind selects flowers for the expression of its | |
finest sympathies, their beauty and their ficet- | |
ingness serving.to make them the most fitting | |
symbols of.those. delicate sentiments .for whieh | |
language itself seems almost too gross a medium. | |
Hillard. | |
Flowers are love’s truest languare.— | |
. Park Benjamin. | |
There is not the least flower bnt seems to | |
hold up its head, and to look pleasantly, in the | |
sceret sense: of the goodness of its Heavenly | |
Maker.— South. | |
Floral apostles ! that in dewy splendor weep | |
without woe,-and blush without a erime.— | |
Horace Smith. | |
There is to the poctical sense a ravishing | |
prophecy -and winsome intimation in flowers | |
that now.and then, from the influence of. mood | |
or circumstance, reasserts itself like the reminis- | |
eence of childhood, or the spell of love.— | |
Tuckerman. | |
A snow of blossoms,and A wild of flowers.— | |
Tickell. | |
Flowers are the sweetest things. that God | |
ever made-and forgot to put asoulinto—— — | |
Beecher. | |
The little flower which sprung up-throngh | |
the hard pavement.of poor Picciola’s prison was | |
beantiful from contrast with the dreary sterilit | |
which surrounded it. So here, amid rough | |
walls, are there fresh tokens of nature. And | |
O the beantiful lessons which flowers teach -to | |
children, expecially in the city! The child’s | |
mind ean grasp with case the delicate sugges- | |
tions of flowers.— Chapin. | |
To analyze the charms of flowers is liko | |
dissecting music ; it is one of those things which | |
it is far better to enjoy than to attempt to un- | |
derstand.— Zuckerman. | |
The plants look up to heaven, from whence | |
they have their nonrishment.—Shekespeare. | |
. _ Flowers so strictly belong to youth that we | |
adult men soon come to feel that their heautital | |
generations concern not us; we have had our | |
day; now let the children have theirs.— Ms | |
- Emerson. | |
The moss-clad violet, fragrant and concealed | |
like hidden charity. —J. £. ZJollinys. | |
Flowers and fruits-are always fit presents, — | |
flowers, because they-are a proud assertion that | |
‘a. ray of beauty outvalues all the utilities of the | |
world. —merson. | |
There is to me a daintiness about early | |
flowers that touches me like poetry. They blow | |
out with such a simple loveliness among the | |
common herbs of pastures, and breathe their | |
lives so unobtrusively, like hearts whose beat- | |
ings are too gentle for the world.— W'ilis. | |
In Eastern lands they talk in flowers,-and | |
they tell in a garland their loves and cares.— | |
Pereval. | |
“Tf flowers have souls,” said Undine, “ the | |
bees, whose nurses-they are, must seem to them | |
darling children at the breast. I onee fancied | |
a paradise for the spirits of departed flowers.” | |
“They go,” answered I, “not into paradise, | |
but into a middle state; the souls of lilies euter | |
into maidens’ foreheads, those of hyacinths and | |
forget-me-nots dwell in their eyes, aml those of | |
roses in their lips.”—Riéehter. | |
. ' | |
Sweet flower, thou tellest how hearts as pure | |
and tender as thy leaf, as low and humble a8 | |
thy stem, will surely know the joy that peace | |
imparts.—Pereival. | |
Lovely flowers are the smiles of God’s good- | |
ness.— Wilberforce. | |
Flowers should deck the brow of the youth- | |
ful bride, for. they/are in themselves’ a: lovely | |
type of marriage. They should twine. round | |
the tomb, for their perpetually renewed beauty | |
is a symbol of the resurrection, They should | |
festoon the ‘altar, for their fragrance and their | |
beauty ascend in perpetual worship before the | |
Most High.—J/rs. L. M. Child. | |
_ To me the meanest -flower that blows. can | |
give thoughts that do often lic too deep for tears. | |
’ Wordsworth. | |
, ‘The herb feeds upon the juice of a good soil, | |
and drinks in.the dew-of heaven as cagerly, and | |
thrives by it as effectually, as the stalled ox that | |
tastes everything that he eats or drinks.— South. | |
’ | |
--- Chunk 2, Page 98 --- | |
FLOWERS. | |
180 | |
FOE. | |
Look how the blue-eyed violets glanee love | |
to one another! —7’. B. Mead. | |
If thou wouldest attain to thy highest, go | |
Jook upon a flower; what that does willessly, | |
that do thou willingly. — Schiller. | |
These stars of earth, these golden flowers.—~ | |
Longfellow. | |
Doubtless botany has its valne; but the | |
flowers knew how to preach divinity before men | |
knew how to disseet and botanize them; they | |
are apt to stop preaching, though, so soon as we | |
begin to disseet and botanize them.— | |
H. N. Hudson. | |
Foster the beautiful, and every hour thou | |
tallest new flowers to birth.—Schiller. | |
For the Infinite has sowed his name in the | |
heavens in burning stars, but on the earth he | |
has sowed his name in tender flowers.—Richter. | |
Where flowers degenerate man cannot live. | |
Napoleon. | |
Full many a flower is born to blush unseen, | |
and waste its sweetness on the desert air.— | |
Gray. | |
He must have an artist’s eye for color and | |
form who can arrange a hundred flowers as | |
tastefully, in any other -way, as by strolling | |
through a garden, and picking here one and | |
there one, and adding them to the bonquet in | |
the accidental order in which they chance to | |
come. Thus we see every suminer day the fair | |
lady coming in from the breezy side hill with | |
gorgeous eolors and most witching effects. If | |
only she could be changed to alabaster, was | |
ever a finer show of flowers in so fine a vase? | |
But instead of allowing the flowers to remain as | |
they-were gathered, they are laid upon the table, | |
divided, rearranged on some principle of taste, I | |
know not what, but never again have that | |
charming naturalness and grace which they | |
first had.—Beecher. | |
It is with flowers as with moral qualities ; | |
the bright are sometimes poisonous ; but, I be- | |
lieve, never the sweet.— Hare. | |
Flowers are like the pleasures of the world. | |
Shakespeare. | |
Honey, by some sweet mystery of the dew, | |
is born of air, in bosoms cf the flowers, liquid, — | |
serene.— Grovanni Rucellai. | |
. The breath of flowers is far sweeter in the | |
air (where it comes and goes like the warbling | |
of music) than in the hand.— Bacon. | |
Flowers never emit so sweet and strong a | |
fragrance as before a storm. Beauteons soul! | |
when a storm approaches thee, be as fragrant as | |
a sweet-smelling flower.—Aichter. | |
Your, voiceless lips, O flowers, are living | |
preachers, ~ each enp a pulpit, and each leaf a | |
book.—LZoruce Smith. | |
Not a flower but shows some toneh, in | |
freekle, streak, or stain, of His unrivalled pencil. | |
He inspires their balmy odors, and imparts their | |
hues.— Cowper. - | |
The flower of sweetest smel] is shy and | |
lowly.— Wordsworth. | |
‘Flowers are the bright remembrances of | |
youth; they waft us back, with their bland | |
odorous breath, the joyous honrs that only | |
young life knows, ere we have learnt that | |
this fair earth hides graves.— | |
Countess of Blessington. | |
Iregard them, as Charles the Emperor did | |
Florence, thathey are too pleasant to be looked | |
upon except on holidays—Zzaak Watton. | |
Often a nosegay of wild-flowers, which was | |
to ns, as village children, a grove of pleasnre, | |
has in after years of manhood, and in the town, | |
given us by its old perfume an_ indescribable | |
transport back into godlike childhood; and | |
how, like a-flower-goddess, it has raised us into | |
the first embracing Aurora-elonds of our first | |
dim feelings ! —Riehter. | |
Emblems of our own great resurreetion, | |
emblems of the bright and better land.— | |
Longfellow. | |
' | |
Every rose is an autograph from the hand | |
of the Almighty God on this world abont us. | |
He has inscribed his thonghts in these marvel- | |
lous hieroglyphies which sense and seience have | |
been these many thousand years seeking to | |
understand.— Theodore Parker. | |
Happy are they who can ereate a rose-tree | |
or erect a honeysuckle.— Gray. | |
Most gladly would I give the blood-stained | |
laurel for the first violet which March brings us, | |
the fragrant pledge of the new-fledged year.— | |
Schiller. | |
How like they are to human things! — | |
Longfellow. | |
A passion for flowers is, I really think, the | |
only one which long sickness leaves untouched | |
with its chilling influence.—Jirs. Hemans. | |
To eultivate a garden is to walk with God, | |
to go hand in hand with Natnre in some of her | |
most beautiful processes, to learn something of | |
her choicest seerets, and to have a more intelli- | |
gent interest awakened in the beautiful order of | |
her works elsewhere.— Bovee. | |
FOE. | |
He makes no friend who never made a foe.— | |
Tennyson. | |
--- Chunk 2, Page 99 --- | |
FOOLISHNESS. 181 FOOLS. | |
FOOLISHNESS.. Letting down buekets into-empty wells, and | |
There is-n foolish corner even in the brain | growing old with drawing nothing up.— | |
of the sage.—-Aristotle. | |
Take my word for this, reader, and say a | |
fool told it you, if you please, that he.wlfo hath | |
not a-dram of ‘folly in his mixture hath pounds | |
of much worse matter in his composition. — | |
Lamb. | |
This peeuliar ill property has. folly, that it | |
enlarges men's desires while it: lessens their | |
capacities. — South. | |
Folly loves the martyrdom of fame.— Byron. | |
There are follies as catching as contagious | |
‘ > | |
disorders.— Rorhefoucauld. | |
Foily consists in the drawing of false con- | |
clusions from just principles, by which it is dis- | |
tingtished from maduess, which draws just con- | |
elusions from false principles.—Locke. | |
In folly’s cup stilt laughs the bubble jov.— | |
Pope. | |
.The wise man. has_his follies no less than | |
the fool; but it has been said that herein lies | |
the difference, — the follies of the fool are known | |
to the world, but are hidden from himself; the | |
follies of the wise are known to himself, but | |
hidden from the world.— Colton. | |
He who lives without ‘folly is not so wise as | |
he imagines.—Rechefoucauld. | |
I find nonsense singularly refreshing.— | |
. Lalleyrand. | |
Folly hath often the same results as wisdom ; | |
but wisdom wonld not engage in her school- | |
room so expensive an assistant as calamity.— | |
Landor. | |
He must be a thorough fool who ean learn | |
nothing from his own folly —JZare. | |
To pardon those absurdities in ourselves | |
which we cannot suffer in others is neither | |
better nor worse than to be more willing to be | |
fools ourselves than to have others so.—Pope. | |
Fortune makes folly her peeuliar eare.— | |
Churchill. | |
When our follies afford equal dclicht to our- | |
“selves and those abont us, what is there to be | |
desired more? We cannot discover the “vast | |
advantage of “seeing ourselves as others see | |
us.” Jt is better to have a-contempt for any | |
one than for ourselves.— Hazlitt. | |
Tt is the folly of the world, constantly, | |
which confounds its wisdom. Not only out of | |
the mouths of babes and sucklings, but out of | |
the mouths of fools aud cheats, we may often | |
get our truest lessons. —/Lo/mes. | |
Coteper. | |
Men of all ages have the-same inclinations, | |
over which reasum excreises no control. ‘Ths | |
wherever men are found, there are follies, ay, | |
and the same follics.—/"ontenelle. | |
_He who has been once very foolish will | |
never be very wise —A/outaigne. | |
FOOLS. | |
People have no right to make fools of them- | |
selves, unless they have no relations to blush | |
for them.—J/aliburton. | |
A rogue is a roundabout fool.— Coleridge. | |
A fool is often as dangerous to deal with as | |
a knave, and always more incorrigible.— Colton. | |
For_not only is Fortune herself blind, but | |
she generallly causes those men to be blind | |
whose interests she has more particularly em- | |
braced. Therefore they are often hanghty and | |
arrogant; nor is there-anything more intoler- | |
able than’a prosperous fool. And henee we | |
often see that men who were at one time | |
affable and agreeable are completely changed | |
by prosperity, despising their old friends, “and | |
clinging to new.— Cicero. | |
A fool’s bolt is soon shot. —Shakespeare. | |
Were I to be angry at men heing fools, I | |
could here find ample room for declamation ; | |
but,’alas!_ I have been a fool myself; and why | |
shonld I be angry with them for being some- | |
thing so natural to every child of humanity ?7— | |
Goldsmith. | |
No creature smarts so little as fool.—Pope. | |
There is in human nature gencrally more of | |
the fool than of the-wise;-and therefore those | |
faculties by which the foolish part of men’s | |
minds are taken are more potent.—Bugon. | |
The fool or knave that wears a title lies. — | |
Young. | |
This world is full of fools, and he who | |
would not wish to sce onc must not only shut | |
himself up alone, but must also break his look- | |
ing-glass.— Boileau. | |
The multitude of fools is a protection to the | |
wise.—St. Augustine. | |
To succeed in the world, i¢ is much more | |
necessary to possess the penetration to discover | |
who is-a_fool than to discover who is-a clever | |
man.—Cato. | |
Their heads sometimes so little, that there is | |
no room for wit; sometimes:so long, that there | |
is no wit for so much room.—Fuller. ~ | |
--- Chunk 2, Page 100 --- | |
FOOLS. | |
A fool always finds a greater fool to admire | |
him.— Boileau. | |
A man of wit would often be much em- | |
barrassed without the company of fools.— | |
Rochefoucauld. | |
As I do live by food, I met a fool, who laid | |
him down, and basked him in the sun, who | |
railed on lady fortune in good terms, in good | |
set terms, — and yet a motley fool.— | |
Shakespeare. | |
A fool at forty is a fool indeed ! — Young. | |
Though thou shouldst bray a fool in a mor- | |
tar among wheat with a pestle, yet will not his | |
foolishness depart from him.—Birble. | |
All men are fools, and with every effort they | |
differ only in the degree.— Boileau. | |
If men are to be fools, it were better that | |
they were fools in little matters than in great; | |
dulness, turned up with temerity, is a livery all | |
the worse for the facings; and the most tre- | |
mendous of all things is 2 magnanimous dunce. | |
Sydney Smith. | |
None but a fool is always right—Hare. | |
The fool doth think he is wise, but the wise | |
man knows himself to be a fool.—Shakespeare. | |
There are certain people fated to be fools; | |
they not only commit follies by choice, but are | |
even constrained to do so by fortune— | |
Rochefoucauld. | |
A fool must now and then be right, by | |
chance.— Cowper. | |
The greatest of fools is he who imposes on | |
himself, and in his greatest concern thinks cer- | |
tainly he knows that which he has least studied, | |
and of which he is most profoundly ignorant.— | |
Shaftesbury. | |
Of all thieves fools are the worst ; they rob | |
you of time and temper.— Goethe. | |
Fools are very often united in the strictest | |
intimacies, as the lighter kinds of woods are | |
the most closely glued together.—Shenstone. | |
To the fool-king belongs the world.— | |
Schiller. | |
Men are so completely fools by necessity | |
that he is but a fool in a higher strain of folly | |
who does not confess his foolishuess.—Pascal. | |
Fools are not mad folks.— Shakespeare. | |
182 | |
FORBEARANCE, | |
There are more fools than wise men ;-and | |
even in the wise men more folly than wisdom.— | |
Chamfort. | |
A fool can neither cat nor drink, nor stand | |
nor walk, nor, in short, laugh nor ery nor take | |
snuff, like a man of sense. How obvious the | |
distinction ! —Shenstone. | |
Fools with bookish knowledge are children | |
with edged weapons; they hurt themselves, and | |
put others in pain.—Zimmermann. | |
I am always afraid of a fool. One cannot | |
be sure that he is nota knave as well.— Hazlitt. | |
A. fool who has a flash of wit creates as- | |
tonishment and scandal, like haek-horses set- | |
ting out to gallop.—Cham/fort, | |
Always win fools first. They talk muck; | |
and what_they have once uttered they will | |
stick to; whereas there is always time, up .to | |
the last moment, to bring before a wise man | |
arguments that may entirely change his opinion. | |
Helps. | |
In sallies of badinage-a polite fool shines; | |
but in gravity he is as awkward as an clephant | |
disporting.—Zimmermann. | |
FOOTSTEPS. | |
The flower she-touched on dipped and rose. | |
Tennyson. | |
The grass stoops ‘not, she treads on it so | |
light.—Shakespeare. | |
Footprints on the sands of time. | |
Longfellow. | |
Her treading would not bend a blade of | |
grass, or shake the downy blow-ball from his | |
stalk ! —Ben Jonson. | |
FOPPERY. | |
Dandies, when first-rate, are generally very | |
agreeable men.—Bulwer Lytton. | |
Nature bas sometimes made .a:fool; but a | |
coxcomb is always of a man’s own making.— | |
Addison. | |
The all-importance of clothes has sprung | |
up in the intellect of the dandy, without effort, | |
like an instinct of genius; he is inspired with | |
cloth, a poet of cloth._— Carlyle. | |
FORBEARANCE. | |
It is a noble and great thing to cover the | |
blemishes and to excuse the failings of a friend ; | |
to draw a curtain hefore his stains, and to dis- | |
play his perfections ; to bury his weaknesses in | |
silence, but to proclaim his virtues upon the | |
The imputation of being a fool is a thing house-top.—South. | |
which mankind, of all others, is the most im- | |
patient of, it being a blot upon the prime and | |
specific perfection of human nature.— South. | |
Whosoever shall smite thee ou thy right | |
cheek, turn to him the other also.—Bille. | |
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FORCE. | |
183 | |
FORGIVENESS. | |
FORCE. | |
Who overcomes by force hath overcoine | |
but half his foe.—Afilton. | |
Force rules the world,.and not opinion; but | |
opinion is that which makes use of force.— | |
- Pascal. | |
FORETHUCUGHOT. | |
To have too much forethonght is the part of | |
a wretch; to have too little is the part of a fool. | |
Ceeil. | |
As.@ man withont forethonght scarcely de- | |
serves-the name of a man, so forethought with- | |
ont reflection is but a metaphorical phrase for | |
the instinct of a beast.—Coleridge. | |
To fear the worst oft cures the worst.— | |
Shakespeare. | |
Itis only the surprise and newness of the | |
thing which makes that misfortune terrible | |
which by premeditation might be made easy -to | |
us. For that which some people make light by | |
sufferance, others do by foresight.—Sencca. | |
FORGETFULNESS. | |
Men.are men; the best sometimes forget.— | |
Shakespeure. | |
The pyramids themselves, doting with ‘age, | |
have forgotten the names of their founders.— | |
Fidler. | |
The world forgetting, by the world forgot ! | |
Pope * | |
Thongh the past haunt me as a spirit, yet | |
L ask not to forget !—.frs. Hemans. | |
Forget thyself to marble. —Ifilton. | |
_ Jtis far off; and rather like a dream than | |
“an assurance that my remembrance warrants.— | |
Shakespeare. | |
It is sure the hardest science to forget ! — | |
Pope. | |
FORGIVENESS. : | |
There is a manner of forgiveness so divine | |
that you are ready to embrace the offender for | |
having called it forth—Lavater, | |
The rarer action is in virtne than in ven- | |
~geanee.—Shakespeare. | |
He that cannot forgive others breaks the | |
bridge over which he must pass himself; for | |
every man has need to be forgiven.— | |
Lord Herbert. | |
Often forgive others, but never thyself.— | |
Publius Syras. | |
A more glorious victory cannot be gained | |
over another man than this, that when the in- | |
jury began on his part, the ‘Kinduess should | |
begin on ours.— Tillotson. | |
The snn should not set upon onr anger, | |
neither should he rise upon our confidence. | |
We should forgive freely, but forget rarely, 1 | |
will not be revenged, and this I owe to my en- | |
emy; but I will remember, and this I owe to | |
myself.—Colton. | |
To erv is human; to forgive, divine—LPope. | |
A brave man thinks no onc his superior who | |
does him an injury: for he has it then in his | |
power to make hiniself his superior to the other | |
y forgiveness.—Drununond. | |
It is easier for the generous to forgive than | |
for offence to ask it.— Zhomson. : | |
It is necessary to repent for years in order to | |
efface a fault in the eyes of men; a single tear | |
suffices with God.— Chateaubriand. | |
The narrow soul knows not the godlike | |
glory of forgiving.—Rewe. | |
The brave only know how to forgive; it | |
is the most refined and generous pitch of virtue | |
human nature can arrivetat, Cownrds have | |
done: good and kind actions, ~ cowards have | |
even fonght, nay, sometimes even conqnered ; | |
but a coward never forgave. It is not in his | |
nature; the power of doing it flows only from a | |
strength and greatness of soul, conscious of its | |
own force and security, and above the little | |
temptations of resenting every fruitless-attempt | |
to interrupt its happiness.—Sterne. | |
We pardon as longyas we love.— | |
Rochefoucauld. | |
Of him that-hopes to be forgiven, it is indis- | |
pensably required that he forgive. It is, there- | |
fore, superfluous to urge any other motive. On | |
this «great duty eternity is suspended ;. and to | |
him that refuses to practise it, the throne of | |
mercy is inaccessible, and the Saviour of the | |
world has‘been born in vain.—Joliason. | |
They who forgive most shall be most for- | |
given.— Bailey. | |
When thou forgivest,— the man who has | |
pierced thy heart stands to thee in: the relation | |
of the sca-worm that perforates the shell of the | |
muscle which straightway closes the wound with | |
a pearl.—Ztichter. | |
If thon wonldst find mnch favor and peace | |
with God and man, be very low in thine own | |
eyes. Forgive thyself little, and others much, | |
Leighton. | |
We forgive too little, forget too much.— | |
Madame Swetchine. | |
It is in vain for you to expect, it is impndent | |
for you to ask of God, forgiveness on your own | |
behalf, if you. refuse. to “exercise. this forgiving | |
temper with respect to others.— Bishop Loadly. | |
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FORTITUDE. 184 | |
FORTUNE. | |
God pardons like a mother, who kisses the | |
offence into everlasting forgetfulness.—Deecher. | |
Humanity is never so beautiful as when | |
praying for forgiveness, or else forgiving an- | |
other. — Richter. | |
The truly great man is as apt to forgive as | |
his power is able to revenge.—Sir P. Sidney. | |
If you bethink yourself of any erime, unree- | |
onciled as yét to heaven and grace, solicit for | |
it straight. — Shakespeare. | |
There is an ugly kind of forgiveness in this | |
world, —a kind of hedgehog forgiveness, shot | |
out like quills. Men take one who has offended, | |
and set him down before the blowpipe of their | |
indignation, and scorch him, and burn his fault | |
into him; and when they have kneaded him | |
sufficiently with their fiery fists, then — they | |
forgive him.—Beecher. | |
Young men soon-give, and soon forget af- | |
fronts; old age is slow in both.—Addison. | |
He who has not forgiven an enemy has | |
never yet tasted one of the most sublime enjoy- | |
ments of life—Levater. | |
Hath any wronged thee? be bravely re- | |
venged ; slight it, and the work is begun; for- | |
give it, and it is finished ; he is below himself | |
that is not above an injury.— Quarles. | |
Great souls forgive not injuries till time has | |
put their enemies within their power, that they | |
may show forgiveness is their own.—Dryden. | |
It is easier to forgive an enemy than a friend. | |
Madame Deluzy. | |
“T ean forgive, but I cannot forget,” is only | |
another way of saying “I will not forgive.” | |
A forgiveness ought to be like a cancelled note, | |
torn in two-and burned up, so that it never can | |
be shown against the man.— Beecher. | |
That eurse shall be — forgiveness ! —Byron. | |
Forgiveness is commendable, but ‘apply not | |
ointment to the wound of an oppressor.—Saadi. | |
FORTITUDE. | |
Where true fortitude dwells, loyalty, bounty, | |
friendship, and fidelity may be found.—Gay. | |
It is sufficient to have a simple heart in or- | |
der to escape the harshness of the age, in or- | |
der not to fly from the unfortunate ; but it is to | |
have some understanding of the imperishable | |
jaw, to seek them in the forgetfulness ‘against | |
which they dare-not complain, to prefer them | |
in their ruin, to admire them in their struggles. | |
Sénancour. | |
In struggling with misfortunes lies the true | |
proof of virtue.— Shakespeare, | |
Fortitude has its extremes as well as the rest | |
of the virtues,‘and, ought, like them, to be al- | |
ways attended by prudence.— Voet. | |
Learn to: labor and to wait.—Longfellow. | |
The fortitude of a Christian consists in pa- | |
tience, not in enterprises which the poets call | |
heroic, and which are commonly the effects of | |
interest, pride, and worldly honor.— Dryden. | |
True fortitude I take to be the quiet posses- | |
sion of a man’s self, and an undisturbed doing | |
his duty, whatever evil besets or danger lies in | |
his way.—Locke. | |
The vulgar refuse or crouch beneath their | |
load ; the brave bear theirs without repining.— | |
Mailet. | |
Fortitude implies a firmness and strength of | |
mind, that enables us todo and suffer as we | |
ought. .It rises upon.an opposition, and, like a | |
river, swells .the higher for having its course | |
stopped.—Jeremy Collier. | |
_ True fortitude is seen in great exploits, that | |
justice warrants and that wisdom guides.— | |
Addison. | |
Fortitude is the guard and support. of the | |
other virtues ; and without courage a man will | |
scarce keep steady to his duty, and fill up the | |
character of a truly worthy man.—Zocke. | |
Gird your hearts with silent fortitude, suffer- | |
ing yet hoping all things.—J/rs. Hemuns. | |
Blessed are those whose blood and judg- | |
ment are so well commingled that they are not | |
a pipe for Fortune’s finger to sound what stop | |
she please.—Shakespeare. | |
Fortitude, itself an essential virtue, is‘a guard | |
to every other virtue.—Locke. | |
Fortitude is not the appetite of formidable | |
things, nor inconsult rashness; but virtue fight- | |
ing for a truth, derived from knowledge of dis- | |
tinguishing good or bad causes.— Nudd. | |
Fortitude is the marshal of thought, the ar- | |
mor of the will, and the fort of reason.—Bacon. | |
Bid that welcome which comes to punish us, | |
and we punish it, seeming to bear it lightly — | |
Shakespeare. | |
FORTUNE. | |
Will Fortune never come with both hands | |
full and write her fair words still in foulest | |
letters? She either gives a stomach, and no | |
food, — such are the poor, in health; or else a | |
feast, and takes away the stomach, — such are | |
the rich, that have abundance and enjoy it not. | |
Shakespeare. | |
The less we deserve good fortune, the more | |
we hope for it.—Afoliére. | |
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FORTUNE. | |
185 | |
FORTUNE. | |
What real good does-an addition .to a for- | |
tune already sufficient procure? Not any. Conld | |
the great man, by having his fortune increased, | |
increase also his appetites, then precedence might | |
be attended with real amusement.— Goldsmith. | |
If fortune wishes to make a man estimable | |
she gives him virtnes; if she wishes to make | |
him esteemed she gives him suecess.—Joubert. | |
Fortune does us neither good nor hurt; | |
she only presents us the matter, and the seed, | |
which our soul, more powerfully than she, turns | |
and applies as she best pleases; being the sole | |
eanse and sovereign mistress of her own happy | |
or unhappy condition. —Jontaigne. | |
Those who lament for fortune do not often | |
lament for themselyes.— Voltaire. | |
Fortune is said to be blind, but her favorites | |
never are. Ambition has the eye of the eagle, | |
prudence that of the lynx ; the first looks through | |
the air, the last-along the-ground.— ~ | |
Bulwer Lytton. | |
Fortune is brittle as glass, and when she is | |
most.refulgent, she is often most unexpectedly | |
broken.—Publius Syrus. | |
The heavens do not send good haps in hand- | |
fuls; but let us pick out our good by little, and | |
with care, from out -much bad, that still our | |
little world may know its king. —Sir P. Sidney. | |
Fortune is like a market, where many times | |
if you-wait a little the price will fall—Bacon. | |
This is most true, and all history bears tes- | |
timony to it, that men may second Fortune, but | |
they cannot thwart her, — they may weave her | |
web, but they cannot break it.—achiavelli. | |
A fortunate shepherd is nursed in a rnde | |
eradle in some wild forest, and, if fortune smile, | |
has risen to empire. That other, swathed in | |
purple by -the throne, has at last, if fortune | |
frown, gone to feed the herd.—.Vetastasio. | |
Fortune dreads the brave, and is only ter- | |
rible to the coward.— Seneca. | |
It isa madness to make Fortune the mistress | |
of events, because in herself she is nothing, but | |
is ruled by Prudence.—Dryden. | |
Fortune, to show us her power in all things, | |
and to abate our presumption, secing she could | |
not make fools wise, has made them fortunate. | |
Montaigne. | |
Tt has been remarked that almost every | |
character which has excited either attention or | |
pity has owed part of its suecess to merit, and | |
art to a happy concurrence of circumstances | |
in its favor. Had Cassar or Cromwell exchanged | |
countries, the one might have been a sergeant, | |
‘and the’ other an exciseman.— Goldsmith. | |
Fortune, like-a coy mistress, loves to yield | |
her favors, though she makes us wrest them | |
froin her.—Bovee. | |
The bad fortune of the good turns their | |
faces up to heaven ; and the good fortune of the | |
bad bows their heads down to the earth.—Saadi. | |
O, how full of error is the judgment of man- | |
kind! They wonder at results wlien they-are | |
ignorant of the reasons. They call it fortune | |
when they know not the cause, and thns wor- | |
ship their own ignorance changed into a deity.— | |
. : ‘Metastasio, | |
Many have been rnined by their fortunes ; | |
many have eScaped ruin by the want of fortune. | |
To obtain it, the great have becoine little, and | |
the little great—Zimmermann. | |
Fortune does not change men; it only un- | |
masks them.—.Madame Riccoboni. | |
The good, we do it; the evil, that is fortune; | |
man is always right, and destiny always wrong. | |
La Fontaine. | |
O Fortune, Fortune !-all men call thee fickle. | |
Shakespeare. | |
Fortune is ever seen accompanying industry, | |
and is as often trundling in_a wheelbarrowias | |
lolling in a coach and six.— Goldsmith. | |
Fortune brings in some boats that are not | |
steered.— Shakespeare. | |
It is with fortune as with fantastical mis- | |
tresses, — she makes sport with those that are | |
ready to die for her,-and throws herself.at the | |
feet of others that despise her.— J. Beaumont. | |
That strumpet — Fortune.—Shakespeare. | |
The «heel of fortnne tnrns incessantly | |
round, and who can say within himself, I shall | |
to-day be uppermost ? — Confucius. | |
What men usnally say of misfortunes, that | |
they never come alone, niay with equal truth be | |
said of good fortune; nay, of other circum- | |
stances which. gather round us in a harmonious | |
way, whether it arise from a kind of fatality, or | |
that man has the power of attracting to him- | |
self things that are mutually related.— Goethe. | |
We do not commonly find men of superior | |
sense amongst those of the highest fortune.— | |
Jurenal. | |
Lkave heard Cardinal Imperiali say : “ There | |
is no man whom Fortune does not visit onee in | |
his life; but when she does not find him ready | |
to receive her, she walks in-at the door, and | |
flies out at the window.”— Montesquieu. | |
We do not know what is really good or bad | |
fortune. —Housseau. ‘ | |
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FORTUNE. | |
186 | |
FORTUNE. | |
The old Scythians painted blind Fortune's | |
powerful lands with wings, to show her gifts | |
come swift and suddenly, which, if her favorite | |
be not swift to take, he loses them forever.-— | |
Chapman. | |
Our probity is not less at the mercy of for- | |
tune than our property.—Zochefoucauld. | |
It cannot be denied but outward accidents | |
conduce much to fortune’s favor, — opportunity, | |
death of others, occasion fitting virtue; but | |
chiefly the mould of a man’s fortune is in his | |
own hands.—Bacon. | |
We rise to fortune by successive steps; we | |
descend by only one.—Stanislaus. | |
A man is thirty years old before he has any | |
settled thonghts of his fortune; it is not com- | |
pleted before fifty. He falls to building in his | |
old age, and dies by the time his house is in a | |
condition to be painted and glazed.—Bruyére. \ | |
Fortune! There is no fortune; all is trial, | |
or punishment, or recompense, or foresight,— | |
Voltaire. | |
Men have made an-all-powerful goddess of | |
fortune, that they may attribute to her all their | |
follies — Madame Necker. | |
Fortune is the rod of the weak.and the staff | |
of the brave.—Lowell. | |
So quickly sometimes has the whee] turned | |
round, that many a man has lived to enjoy the | |
benefit of that charity which his own piety pro- | |
jected.—Sterne. | |
Though Fortune’s malice overthrow my | |
state, my mind exceeds the compass of her | |
wheel.— Shakespeare. | |
There are some men who are Fortune’s favor- | |
ites, and who, like cats, light forever upon their | |
legs.— Colton. | |
All our advantages are those of fortune; | |
pirth, wealth, health, beanty, are her accidents ; | |
and-when we cry out against fate, it were well | |
we should remember Fortune can take naught | |
save what she gave.—Byron. | |
Every man is the architect of his own for- | |
tune.—Sallust. | |
In human life there is: a constant change of | |
fortune; and it is unreasonable to expect an | |
exemption ‘from the common fate. Life itself | |
decays, and all things are daily changing | |
lutarch, | |
There ‘are some natures that will take hurt | |
from any conditions of life; and the man that | |
prosperity ripens into a spendthrift is precisely | |
the man that poverty would have soured into a | |
churl.—“Alexander Smith. | |
The power of fortune is confessed only b | |
the miserable, for the happy impute all their | |
success to prudence or merit— Swift. | |
Ttis we that are blind, not Fortune ; because | |
our eye is too dim to discern the mystery of her | |
effects, we foolishly paint her blind, and hood- | |
wink the providence of the Almighty.— - | |
Sir Thomas Browne. | |
We treat Fortune like a mistress, — the more | |
she yields, the more we demand.— | |
wadame Roland. | |
Fortune rules in-all things, and advances | |
and depresses things more out of her own will | |
than right and justice.—Sallust. | |
Fortune, not wisdom, human life doth sway. | |
Cicero. | |
The way of fortune is like the milky way in | |
the sky, which is a meeting or knot of a num- | |
ber of small stars, not-seen asunder, but giving | |
light together; so are there -a number of litie | |
and scarce discerned virtues, or rather facnities | |
and customs, that make men fortunate.-—Bacon, | |
Dame Fortune, like most others of the female | |
sex, is generally most indulgent to the nimble- | |
mettled blockheads.— Otway. | |
Fortune has rarely condescended to be the | |
companion of Genius; others find a hundred by- | |
roads to her palace; there is but one open, and | |
that a very indifferent one, for men of letters.— | |
Disraeli. | |
Good and bad fortune are found severally to | |
visit those who have the most of the one or the | |
other.—Rochefoucauld. | |
When Fortune means to men most good, she | |
looks upon them with a threatening eye. —~ | |
Shakespeare. | |
They are generally better satisfied whom | |
Fortune never favored, than those whom she | |
has forsaken.—Seneca. | |
Fortune, like other females, prefers a: lover | |
to a master, and submits with impatience to | |
control ; but he that wooes her with opportunity | |
and importunity will seldom court her in vain. | |
Colton. | |
Some are born great, some achieve great- | |
ness, and some have greatness thrust ‘upon | |
them.—Shakespeare. | |
We should manage our fortune like our | |
constitution ; enjoy it when good, have patience | |
when bad, and never apply violent remedies but | |
in cases of necessity.—Aochefoucauld. | |
The old saying is expressed with depth and | |
significance: “ On the pinnacle of fortune man | |
does not long stand firm.”— Goethe. | |
--- Chunk 3, Page 5 --- | |
FRAILTY. | |
To be thrown npon one’s own resourees is to | |
be cast in the:very lap of fortune ; for our feenl- | |
ties then nndérgo a development, ond display | |
an energy, of whichthey were previously un- | |
susceptible —frankiin. | |
Fortune gives -too mich to many, but to | |
none cnough.—.Vartial. | |
Lueky.men‘are favorites of Heaven.— Dryden. | |
The moderation of fortunate people comes | |
from the calm which good‘ fortune gives to their | |
tempers.—Rochefoucauld, | |
We'are sure to get the better of Fortune if | |
we do bnt grapple with her.—Seneca. | |
It requires greater virtues to support good | |
than bad fortune.—Nochefoucauld. | |
FRAILTY. | |
Fruilty, thy name is woman !—Shakespeare. | |
Though thou seest another openly offend, or | |
even commit some cnormons sin, yet thou must | |
not from thetice take occasion to value thyself’ | |
for thy superior goodness; for thou canst not | |
tell how long thon wilt be able to persevere in | |
the narrow path of virtue. All men are frail, | |
but thon shouldst reckon none so frail-as thy- | |
selfi— Thomas a Aempis. | |
Man with frailty is‘allied by birth._— | |
. Bishop Lowth. | |
FRANCE. | |
The sun rises bright in France, and fair sets | |
he.—Allan Cunningham. | |
Studious to please, and ready to subinit ; | |
the supple Gaul was born a parasite.—Joknson. | |
A monarchy tempered by songs.—Chamfort. | |
France is a dog-hole, and it no more merits | |
the tread of a man’s fuot.— Shakespeare. | |
~» Deeayed in thy.glory and sunk in thy worth. | |
: Byron. | |
FRANKNESS. | |
He speaks home; you may relish him more | |
in the soldier than in the scholar.— : | |
Shakespeure. | |
It is wrong to believe that frank sentiments | |
and the candor of the mind are the-exclusive | |
share. of the young; they ornament oftentimes | |
old age, upon which they scem to spread a chaste | |
refiection of the modest graces of their younger | |
days, where they shine with the same brightness | |
as those flowers which are often seen peeping, | |
fresh and laughing, from among ruins.— | |
Poincelot. | |
FRAUD. | |
All frands, like the “wall danbed with un- | |
tempered mortar,” with which men think to but- | |
tress upan cditice, always tend to the decay of the | |
system they are devised to support.— HW Aately. | |
187 | |
FREEDOM. | |
Thongh frand in all other-actions be oiions, | |
yet in matters of war it is laudable and glorious, | |
and he who overcomes his enemies hy stratagem | |
is as much to be praised as he who overcomes | |
them by force.—-Alacluavell, | |
FREEDOM, | |
The man who stands upon his own soil, | |
who feels, by the laws of the land in which he | |
lives, — by the laws of civilized nations, — he is | |
the righttul and exclusive owner of the land | |
which he tills, is, by the constitution of our | |
nature, underea wholesome influence, uot easily | |
imbibed from any other souree.— | |
. Edward Everett, | |
Void of freedom, what would virtne he ?— | |
Lameartine. | |
. The eause of freedom is identified with the | |
destinies of humanity, and in whatever part of | |
the world it gains ground by and by, it will be | |
a common gain to all these who desire it.— | |
: Kossuth. | |
There is no legitimacy npon earth but ina | |
government which is the choice of the nation.— | |
Joseph Bonaparte. | |
The sea,‘as well as air, isa free and com- | |
mon thing to all; and a particular nation can- | |
not pretend to have the right to the’exelusion | |
of alt others, -withont violating the rights of | |
nature and public usage.—Queen Llzabeth. | |
We do not know of how much a man is | |
eapable if he has the will, and to what point he | |
will raise himself if he feels free —J. ven Jfiiller. | |
The man. who seeks freedom for anything | |
but freedom’s self is made to be a slave.— | |
De Tocqueville. | |
The water-lily, in the midst of waters, opens | |
its Ieaves and expands its petals, at the first | |
pattering of the shower, and rejoices in the | |
rain-drops with a qnicker sympathy than the | |
packed shrubs in the sandy desert.— Coleridge. | |
None are more hopelessly enslaved than those | |
who falsely believe they nre free.— Goethe. | |
The greatest glory of a free-horn people is | |
to transmit that freedom to their children. — | |
Havard. | |
To have freedom is only to have that which | |
is absolutely necessary to enable us to be what | |
we onght to be, and to possess what we onght | |
to possess. — Rake. ° | |
Countries are well cultivated, not as_they | |
are fertile, but as they are freé.—fontesquieu. | |
Whatever natural right men may have to | |
freedom and independency, it is manifest that | |
some meu have a natural asvendency over | |
others.—Lerd Greville. | |
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FREE SPEECH. | |
188 | |
FRIENDSHIP. | |
Frecdom is the ferment of freedom. The | |
moistened sponge drinks up water greedily; | |
the dry one sheds it— Holmes. | |
Progress, the growth of power, is the end | |
and boon of liberty; and, without this, a peo- | |
ple may have the name, but want the substance | |
and spirit of freedom.— Channing. | |
Many politicians are in the habit of laying | |
it down as a self-evident proposition, that no | |
people ought to be free till they are fit to use | |
their freedom. The maxim is worthy of the | |
fool in the old story, who resolved not to go into | |
the water till he had learned to swim !— | |
Macaulay. | |
Know ye not who would he free themselves | |
must strike the blow? by their right arms the | |
conquest must be wrought ?—Byron. | |
FREE SPEECH. | |
There is tonic in the things that men do not | |
love to hear; and there is damnation in_the | |
things that wicked men love to hear. Free | |
specch is to a great people what winds-are to | |
oceans and malarial regions, which waft away | |
the elements of disease, and bring new elements | |
of health. And where free speech is stopped | |
miasma is bred, and death comes fast.—-Beeeher | |
FRIENDSHIP. | |
In your friendships and in your enmities let | |
your confidence and your hostilities have eertain | |
ounds; make not the former dangerous, nor | |
the latter irreconcilable. There are strange vi- | |
cissitudes in business.—Chesteryield. | |
We call friendship the love of the Dark Ages. | |
Aladame de Salm. | |
A wound in the friendship of young persons, | |
as in the bark of young trees, may be so grown | | |
over as to Ieave no sear. The case is very dif- | |
ferent in regard to old persons and old timber. | |
The reason of this may be accountable from the | |
decline of the social passions, and the prevalence | |
of spleen, suspicion, and rancor towards the | |
latter part of life.—Shenstone. | |
Friendship! mysterious cement of the sou)! | |
sweetener of life! and solder of society ! —Blair. | |
Friendship is more firmly secured by lenity | |
towards failings than by attachment to excel- | |
Jenees. The former is valucd as a kindness | |
which cannot be claimed ; the latter is exacted | |
as the payinent of a debt to merit.— | |
W. B. Chilow. | |
Friendship is a vase, which, when it is flawed | |
by heat or violence or accident, may as well be | |
broken at once; it never can be trusted after. | |
The more graceful and ornamental it was, the | |
more clearly do-we discern -the hopelessness of | |
restoring it to its former state. Coarse stones, | |
if they are fractured, may be cemented again ; | |
precions ones never.—Lundor. | |
The friendships of the world are oft confed- | |
eracies in vice, or leagues of pleasnre.—Addison. | |
Charity commands us, where we know no ill, | |
to think well of all; but friendship that always | |
goes a step higher, gives a man a peculiar right | |
and claim to the good opinion of his friend.— | |
South, | |
We must love our friends as trne-amateurs | |
love paintings; they have their eyes perpetually | |
fixed on the fine parts, and see no others.— | |
Madame @’ Epinay. | |
The light of friendshipis like the light of phos- | |
phorus, — seen plainest when all around is dark. | |
Crowell. | |
We value the devotedness of friendship rath- | |
eras an oblation to vanity than-as a free inter- | |
change of hearts; an endearing contract of | |
sympathy, mutual forbearance, and respect ! — | |
Jane Porter. | |
False friends are like our shadow, keeping | |
close to us while we walk in the sunshine, but | |
leaving us the instant we cross into the shade.— | |
Bovee. | |
Friendship is infinitely better than kindness. | |
Cicero. | |
Whatever thé number of © man’s friends, | |
there will be times in his life when he has one | |
too few.—Bulwer Lytton. | |
To say, with La Rochefoucauld, that “in | |
the adversity of our best friends there is some- | |
thing that does not displease ns,” and to say | |
that in the prosperity of our best friends there ts | |
something that does not please us, secms to be | |
the same thing; yet I believe the first is false, | |
and the latter true.—Lord Greville. | |
My friends! There are no friends !— | |
Aristotle. | |
Friendship, like love, is self-forgetful. The | |
only inequality it knows is one that exalts the | |
object, and humbles self.— Henry Giles. | |
A friendship will be young after the lapse of | |
acentury. A passion is old at the end of three | |
months.—Nigu. | |
Be on such terms with your friend as if you | |
knew that he might one day become your en- | |
emy.—Laberius. | |
What is commonly called friendship is no | |
more than a partnership; a reciprocal regard | |
for one another’s interests, and an exchange of | |
good offices ; in a word, a-mere traffic, wherein | |
self-love always proposes to be a gainer.— | |
Rochefoucauld. | |
Kindred weaknesses induce friendships as | |
often as kindred virtues.—Bovee. | |
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FRIENDSIIZIP. | |
Our most intimate friend is not he to whom | |
we show the worst, but the best of our nature.— | |
Tawthorne. | |
Nothing is more dangerous than an impru- | |
dent friend ; better is it to have to deal with a | |
prudent enemy. — La fontaine, | |
Life is to be fortified by ‘many friendships. | |
To love and to be loved is the greatest happi- | |
ness of existence.—Syduey Smith. | |
Friendship is love without its flowers or veil. | |
Hare. | |
We love e¥erything on our own account; | |
we-even follow our own taste and inclination | |
when we prefer our friends to ourselves ; and | |
yet it is this preference alone that constitutes | |
true and perfect friendship. —Rochefoucauld. | |
He who has ceased to enjoy his friend’s su- | |
periority has ceased to love him.— . | |
Madame Swetchine. | |
Every friend is to the other a sun, and a | |
sunflower also. He attracts and follows.— | |
Richter. | |
When danger threats, the friend comes | |
forth resolved and shields his friend; in For- | |
tune’s golden smiles what need of friends ? her | |
favoring power wants no auxiliary.—Zuripides, | |
He that doth a base thing in zeal for his | |
friend burns the golden thread that ties their | |
hearts together—Jeremy Taylor. | |
Wise were the kings who never chose a | |
friend till with full enps they had unmasked | |
his soul, and seen the bottom of his deepest | |
thoughts.— Horace. | |
How were friendship possible? In mutnal | |
devotedness to the good and trne; otherwise | |
impossible, except as armed nentrality or hol- | |
low commercial league. A man, be the heavens | |
ever praised, is sufficient for himself; yet were | |
ten men, united in love, capable of being and of | |
doing what ten thousand singly would fail in. | |
Infinite i$ the help man can yield to man.— | |
° Carlyle. | |
A faithful friend is the true image of the | |
Deity.— Napoleon. | |
As the shadow in early morning, is friend- | |
ship with the wicked ; it dwindles hour by hour. | |
But friendship with the good increases, like the | |
evening shadows, till the sun of life sets. — | |
Ferder. | |
The amity that wisdom knits not, folly | |
may casily untie.— Shakespeare. | |
Real friendship is a slow grower; and never | |
thrives unless engrafted upon a-stock of known | |
and reciprocal merit.— Chesterfield. | |
189 | |
FRIENDSHIP. | |
A friend loveth at all times; and a brother | |
is born for-adversity.— Bible, | |
When the first time of love is over, there | |
comes a something better still. Then comes | |
that other love ; that faithful friendship which | |
never changes, and which will accompany you | |
with its calm light through~the whole of life. | |
It is only needful to place yourself so that it may | |
come, and then it comes of itself’ And then | |
everything turns and changes itself to the best. | |
- fredrika Yremer. | |
That friendship will not continue to the end | |
that is begun for an end.— Quarles. | |
With a clear sky, 4 bright sun, and a gentle | |
breeze, you will have friends in plenty ; but let | |
Fortune frown, and the firmament be overcast, | |
‘and then your friends will prove like the strings | |
of the Inte, of which you will tighten ten before | |
yon find one that will bear the stretch and keep | |
the pitch.— Gottheld. | |
If ‘sve would build on-a sure foundation in | |
friendship, we must love our friends for their | |
sakes rather than for our own.— Charlotie Bronté. | |
True friends are the whole world to onejan- | |
other ; and he that is'a friend to himself is also | |
a friend to mankind. Even in my studies the | |
greatest delight I take is of imparting it to | |
others’; for there is no relish to me in the pos- | |
sessing of anything without a partner.— Seneca. | |
We may have many acquaintances, but we | |
can have but few friends; this made Aristotle | |
say that he that hath many friends hath none. | |
. . Johnson. | |
What an argument in favor of social con- | |
nections is the observation that by eommunieat- | |
ing our grief we have less, and by communnicat- | |
ing our pleasure we have more.—Lord Greville. | |
There have been fewer friends on earth than | |
kings.— Cowley. : | |
We say, in common discourse, that aman | |
may be his own enemy; and the frequeney of | |
the fact makes the expression intelligible. But | |
that a man should be the bitterest enemy of his | |
friends implies a contradiction of a peculiar | |
nature. There is something in it which cannot | |
be conecived without a confusion of ideas, nor | |
expressed without a solecism in language; yet | |
aman is often injured by the assistance of his | |
friend, whose impulse, however generons and | |
sincere, combines neither prudence for its reg- | |
ulation nor skill for its successful adoption.— | |
Junius, | |
There is no man so friendless but that he | |
can find a friend sincere enough to tell hin dis- | |
agreeable truths.—Bulwer Lytion. | |
Women bestow on friendship only what they | |
borrow from love —Chamfort. | |
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FRIENDSHIP. | |
190 | |
FRIENDSHIP. | |
He who disguises tyranny, protection, or | |
even benefits under the air and name of friend- | |
ship reminds me of the guilty priest who poi- | |
soned the sacramental brexd.—Chamfort. | |
To what gods is sacrificed that rarest and | |
sweetest thing upon earth, friendship? To | |
vanity and to interest.—Jfalesherbes. | |
‘ | |
There are no rules for friendship. It must | |
be left to itself; we cannot force it any more | |
than love.—Haziitt. | |
Old friends are the great blessings of one’s | |
latter years. Half a word conveys one’s mean- | |
ing. They have memory of the same events, | |
and have the same mode of thinking. I have | |
young relations that may grow upon me, for my | |
nature is affectionate, but can they grow old | |
friends? My age forbids that. Still less ean | |
they grow companions. Is it friendship to ex- | |
plain half one says? One must relate the his- | |
tory of one’s memory and ideas ; and what is | |
that to the young but old stories ? — | |
Horace Walpole. | |
A friendship that makes the least noise is | |
Friendship is constant in all other things, | |
save in the office and affairs of love— ~ | |
Shakespeare. | |
If thy friends be of better quality than thy- | |
self, thou mayest be sure of two things: the | |
first, that they will be more careful to-keep thy | |
counsel, because they have more to lose than | |
thou hast; the second, they will esteem thee for | |
thyself, and not for that which thou dost pos- | |
sess.— Sir’ Walter Raleigh. - | |
The greatest medicine is a true friend.— | |
Sir W. Temple. | |
I have never believed that friendship sup- | |
posed the obligation of hating those whom your | |
friends did not love, and [ believe rather it | |
obliges me to love those whom they love.— | |
Morelia. | |
Friendship is made fast by interwoven ben- | |
efits—Sir P. Sidney. | |
We learn our virtnes from the bosom friends | |
who love us; our faults from the enemy who | |
hates us. We cannot easily diseover our real | |
very often the most useful ; for which reason I, form-from.a friend. He is a mirror on which | |
should prefera prudent friend to a zealous one.: the warmth of our breath impedes the clearness | |
Addison.‘ of the reflection. —Riclter. | |
Take heed of a speedy professing friend; | |
love is never lasting which flames before it | |
burns.—Feltham. | |
These hearts which suck up friendship like | |
water, and yield it again with the first touch, | |
might as well expect to squeeze a sponge and | |
find it hold its moisture, as to retain affections | |
which they are forever dashing from them.— | |
Jane Porter. | |
We lose some friends for whom we regret | |
more than we grieve; and others for whom we | |
grieve, yet do not regret.—Rochefoucauld. | |
A principal fruit of friendship is the ease and | |
discharge of the fulness and swellings of the | |
heart, which passions of all kinds do cause and | |
induce.—Bacon. ~ | |
There is nothing that is meritorious but vir- | |
tue and friendship, and, indeed, friendship itself | |
is but a part of virtue.—Pope. | |
A friend should bear his friend’s infirmities. | |
Shakespeare. | |
The most elevated and pure souls cannot | |
hear, even from the lips of the most contempti- ; | |
ple men, these words, friendship,” “sensibility,” | |
“virtue,” without immediately attaching to | |
them all the grandeur of which their heart is | |
susceptible. —Aichter. | |
Friendship consists properly in mutual of- | |
fices, and a: generous strife in alternate acts of | |
kindness —South, | |
Friendship is the-wine of life.— Young. | |
Perfect friendship puts us under the necessity | |
of being virtnons. As it.can only be preserved | |
among estimable persons, it forces ns to resemble | |
them. You find in friendship the surety of | |
good counsel, the emulation of good example, | |
sympathy in our griefs, succor in our distress.— | |
Madame de Lambert. | |
He who reckons ten friends has not one.— | |
‘ . Afalesherbes. | |
Friends are diseovered rather than made; | |
there are people who are in their own nature | |
friends, only they don’t know eaeh other; but | |
certain things, like poetry, music, and paintings | |
are like the Freemason’s sign, — they reveal the | |
initiated to each other.—Jirs. Stowe. | |
Friendship requires deeds.—Richter. | |
Friendship is the only thing in the world | |
concerning the usefulness of which all mankind | |
are agreed.—Cicero. | |
Be careful to make friendship the child, and | |
not the father of virtue ; for many strongly knit | |
minds are rather good friends than good men ; | |
so, as though they do not like the evil their | |
friend does, yet they like him who does the evil ; | |
| and though no connsellors of the offence, they | |
yet protect the offender.—Sir P. Sidney. | |
Old friends are best. King James used to | |
call for his old shoes ; they were easiest for his | |
feet.— Selden. : | |
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FRIENDSHIP. | |
191 | |
FRIENDSHIP. | |
When men-are friends there is no need of | |
justice ; but when they are-just, they still need | |
friendship.—<Aristotle: | |
The ideal of friendship is to feel as one while | |
remaining two.—Jfadame Swetchine. | |
The noblest part of a friend is an honest | |
boldness in the notifying of errors. He that | |
We have social strengths. Our affection | |
towards others creates a-‘sort of vuntage’or pur- | |
chase which nothing will supply. Lean do that | |
by another which I cannot do alone: I can say | |
to you what I cannot first say to myself. Other | |
men are-lenses through which we read our own | |
minds.— emerson. | |
The youth of friendship is better than its | |
tells me of ‘a fanit, aiming at my good, I must’ old age. —Hazlitt. | |
think him wise and’ faithful, — wise in spying | |
that which I see not; faithful in a plain -ad- | |
monishment, not tainted with flattery. — | |
Feltham. | |
Friendships which are born in misfortune | |
‘are more firm and Jasting than those which are | |
formed in happiness.—D' Urfey. | |
There are jilts in fricndship as-well as in | |
Jove, and by the behavior of some men in both, | |
one would almost imagine that they industrions- | |
ly songht to gain the-atfections of others with a | |
view only of making the parties miserable.— | |
Fielding. | |
Friends areas companions on s journey, | |
who ought.to aid each other to persevere in the | |
road to a happier lite—Pythagoras. | |
Do not allow grass to grow on the road of | |
friendship.—Jfadame Geoffrin. | |
Love and esteem are the first principles of | |
friendship, whieh always is imperfect where | |
either of these two is wanting. — Budgell. | |
Friendship is like those ‘ancient altars where | |
the unhappy and even the guilty, found a sure | |
asylum.—il/adame Swetchine. | |
He who has not the weakness of friendship | |
has not the strength.— Joubert. | |
Friendship, gift of heaven, delight of great | |
sonls ; friendship which kings,-so distinguished | |
for ingratitude, are unhappy enough not to | |
know.— Voltaire. | |
Friendship is:stronger than kindred.— | |
Publius Syrus. | |
People young, and raw, and soft-natured, | |
think it an easy thing to gain love, and reckon | |
their own friendship a sure price of any man’s; | |
Také heed how you place your good-will’but when experience shall have shown. them | |
upon any other ground than proof of virtue. | |
Neither length of acquaintance, mutnal seerecies, | |
nor height of benefits, can bind a vicions heart ; | |
no man being good to others that is not good | |
in himself— Sir P. Sidney. | |
Friendship is a cadence of divine melody | |
melting through the heart-—Jfildmay. | |
False friendship, like the ivy, decays and | |
ruins the walls it embraces ; but true friendship | |
gives new life and animation to ‘the object it | |
supports.—urton. | |
Rare as is true love; true friendship is rarer. | | |
La Fontaine. more sacred when beheld through the shades of | |
, the sepulchre.—Jobert [all. | |
If two men are nnited, the wants of neither’! | |
are any greater, in some respects, than they ! | |
would be-were they atone, and their strength Is | |
superior to the strength of two separate men.— | |
Sé€nancour. | |
Friendship is the medicine for all misfortune ; | |
but ingratitude dries up the fountain of all | |
. goodness.— Richelieu. | |
Feast-won, fast-lost, one cloud of winter | |
sligion.— | |
the hardness of most hearts, the hollowness of | |
others, and the baseness and ingratitude of al- | |
most all, they will then find that a true friend is | |
the’ gift of God, and that He only who made | |
hearts can unite them.—Souh. | |
Purchase no friends by gifts; when thou | |
‘ ceasest to give such will cease to love.—L£uller. | |
Friendship is full of dregs. Shakespeare. | |
The friendship of high and sanctified spirits | |
loses: nothing by death but its ‘alloy; failings | |
disappear, and the virtues of those whose “ faces | |
we shall behold no wore” appear greater and | |
The diffienlty is not so great to die for a | |
friend as to find 2 friend worth dying for— | |
Henry fTome. | |
.. The-generality of friends puts us out of con- | |
ecit with friendship; just as-the generality of | |
religions peo ple puts us ont of conceit with re- | |
tochefoucauld. | |
To be influenced by a passion for the same | |
showers, these flies are conched.—Shakespeare. pursuits, ard to have similar distikes, is the ra- | |
If a man does not make new acquaintances | |
as he advances throngh life, he wal soon find | |
himself left alone. A man should -keep his | |
friendships in constant repair—Johnson. | |
t | |
tional ground-work of lasting friendship.— | |
Cicero. | |
The corpse of friendship is not. worth em- | |
! balming —Haslitt. | |
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FRIENDSHIP. | |
192 | |
FRIENDSHIP. | |
Those who want friends to open themselves | |
unto are cannibals of their own hearts.— Bacon. | |
The qualities of your friends will be those of. | |
your enemies, — cold friends, cold enemies ; half | |
friends, half enemies; fervid enemies, warm | |
friends.—Lavater. | |
I love a friendship that flatters itself in the | |
sharpness and vigor of its communieations.— | |
Montaigne. | |
True friends Visit us in prosperity only when | |
invited, but_in adversity they come without in- | |
vitation.— Theophrastus. | |
Friendship is given us by nature, not to favor | |
vice, but to aid virtue.—Crcero. | |
I would give more for the | |
and love of one than for the public praise of ten | |
thousand. — JV. R. Alger. | |
Let friendship creep gently to a-height ; if it | |
rush to it, it may soon run itself out of breath. | |
fuller. | |
A man that is fit to make a friend of must | |
have conduct to manage the engagement, and | |
resolution to maintain it. He-must use freedom | |
‘without roughness, and oblige without design. | |
Cowardice will betray friendship,.and covetons- | |
ness will starve it. Folly will be nauseous, | |
assion is apt to ruffle, and pride will fly out | |
into contumely and neglect.—Jeremy Collier. | |
Something like home, that is not home, is to | |
be desired ; it.is to be found in the house of-a- | |
friend.—Sir William Temple. . | |
Dread more the blunderer’s friendship than | |
the calumniator’s enmity.—Lavater. | |
True friendship is a plant of slow growth, | |
and must undergo and withstand the shocks of | |
adversity before it is entitled to the appellation. | |
Washington. | |
Friendship improves happiness and abates | |
misery, by the doubling of our joy and the di- | |
viding of our grief— Cicero. | |
True friendship cannot be among many. | |
For since our facuitics are of a finite energy, it | |
is impossible our love can be very intense when | |
divided among many. No, the rays must be | |
contracted to make them burn.—/ohn Norris. | |
He who cannot feel friendship is alike inea- | |
pable of love. ° Let a woman beware of the man | |
who owns that he loves no one but herself.— | |
Talleyrand. | |
There is a power in love to divine another’s | |
destiny better than that other can, and by he- | |
yoie enconragements, hold him to his task. | |
What has friendship so signal as its sublime at- | |
traction to whatever virtue is in us? —£merson. | |
Friendship hath the skill and observation of | |
the best physician, the diligence and vigilance | |
of the best nurse, and the tenderness and pa- | |
itience of the best mother.— Clarendon. | |
Friendship is the shadow of the evening, | |
which strengthens with the setting sun of life.— | |
La Fontaine. | |
Be slow to fall into friendship; but when | |
thou art in continue firm and constant.— | |
Socrates. | |
Nature loves nothing solitary, and always | |
reaches out to something, as a support, which | |
ever in the sincerest friend is most delightful.— | |
. Cicero. | |
No better relation than a prudent and faith- | |
rivate esteem, ful friend. —Franklin.* | |
In friendship, we see only the faults which | |
may injure our friends. In love, we see only the | |
faults by which we ourselves suffer—Du Cour. | |
The friends thon hast, and their adoption | |
tried, grapple them to thy soul with hooks of | |
steel.— Shakespeare. | |
Onc of the surest evidences of friendship that | |
one individual can display to ‘another is'telling | |
him gently of afault. If any other can excel it, | |
itis listening to such a disclosure with gratitude, | |
and amending the error.— Bulwer Lytton, | |
Friends should be weighed, not told; who | |
boasts to have won a multitude of fricnds has | |
never had one.— (Coleridge. | |
The loss of a friend is like that of a limb. | |
Time may heal the anguish of the wound, but | |
the loss cannot be repaired.— Southey. | |
He will find himself in a great mistake that | |
either seeks for a friend in a palace or tries him | |
at a feast.—Seneca. | |
Friendship throws a greater lustre on _pros- | |
erity, while it lightens adversity by sharing in | |
its griefs and‘anxieties.—Cicero. | |
Summer friends vanish when the cask is | |
drained to the dregs, their necks refusing to | |
halve the yoke that sorrow draws.—Horace. | |
I have too dceply read mankind to be | |
amused with friendship ; it is a name invented | |
merely to betray eredulity ; it is intercourse of | |
interest, not of souls.—Havard. | |
We should remember that it is quite as much | |
a part of friendship to be delicate in its de- | |
mands as to be ample in its performances.— | |
J. F. Boyes, | |
Friendship is too pure a pleasure for a mind | |
eankered with ambition, or the lust of power | |
and grandeur.—Junius. | |
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FRUGALITY. | |
Itis a common saying, and because founded | |
in trnth, has become a proverb, that friendships | |
ought to be immortal, but enmities mortal_— | |
Livy. | |
Convey thy Jove to thy friend as an arrow | |
to the mark, to stick there ; not asa ball against | |
the wall; to rebound back to thee.— Quarles. | |
There is nothing so great that I fear to do | |
for my friend ; nor nothing so small that I will | |
disdain to do for him.—Sir P. Sidney. | |
FRUGALITY. | |
Frugality is fonnded_on the principle that | |
all riches have limits.—Burke. | |
Frngality may be termed the daughter of | |
prndence, the sister of temperance, and the par- | |
ent of liberty. He that is extravagant will | |
quickly become poor, and poverty will enforce | |
dependence'and invite corruption.—Johason. | |
The world has not yet learned the riches of | |
frugality. —Cicero. | |
He that spareth in everything is an inexcus- | |
able niggard. He that sparcth in nothing is an | |
inexensable madman. The mean is to spare in | |
what is least necessary,-and to lay out more | |
liberally in what is most required in our several | |
cireumstances.—Lord Halifax. | |
By sowing frugality we reap libertyy a | |
golden harvest.— Agesilaus. | |
Frugality is good if liberality be joined with | |
it. The tirst is leaving off supertinons expenses ; | |
the last is bestowing them to the benefit of oth- | |
ers that need. The first without the last begets | |
covetousness ;_ the last without the first begets | |
prodigality.— William Penn. | |
He seldom lives frugally who lives by | |
chance. [ope is always liberal, and they that | |
truse her promises make little scrnple of revel- | |
ling to-day on the profits of to-morrow.— | |
: Johnson. | |
FUN. | |
Fun has no limits. Te is like the human | |
race anid face ; there is a family likeness among | |
all the species, but they-all differ.—ZZaliburton. | |
FUTURITY. , | |
It ever is the marked propensity of restless | |
and aspiring minds to look into the stretch of | |
dark futurity.— Joanna Baillie. | |
While a man is stringing ‘a harp, he tries | |
the strings, not for music, but for construction. | |
When it is finished i¢ shall be played for melo- | |
dies. God is fashioning the human heart. for | |
future joy. He only sounds @ string here and | |
there to sec how far his work has progressed.— | |
Beecher. | |
If there was no future life, our sonls wonld | |
not thirst for it— Richter. | |
13 | |
193 | |
FUTURITY. | |
Everything that looks to the future clevates | |
human nature; for never is life so low or so | |
litle as when ocenpied with the present.— | |
Landor. | |
The future is always fairy-land to the | |
young. Life is Hike’a beantitnl and winding | |
lane, on either side bright flowers, and beautiful | |
bueterflies and tempting fruits, which we svarce- | |
ly pause to admire and to taste, so cager are we | |
to hasten to an opening which we imagine will | |
be more beautifiil still. But by degrees, as we | |
advance, the trees grow bleak ; the flowers and | |
butterflies fail, the fruits disappear, and we find | |
we haye arrived — to reach‘a desert. waste— | |
G. A. Sala. | |
Age and sorrow have the gift of reading the | |
future by the sad past.—er. J. Farrar. | |
Boast not thyself of to-morrow; for thou | |
knowest not what a day may bring forth.— | |
Bible. | |
One might as well attempt to calculate | |
mathematically the contingent forms of the | |
tinkling bits of glass in'a kalcidoscope as to look | |
through the tube of the future and foretell its | |
pattern.— Beecher. | |
Coming events cast their shadows before.— | |
Campbell, | |
It has been ‘well observed that we should | |
treat futurity as an aged friend, from whom we | |
expecta rich legacy. Let us do nothing to for- | |
feit his esteem, and treat him with respect, not | |
with servility. But Ict us not be too prodiyal | |
when we are yonng, nor too parsiinonions when | |
we are old, otherwise we shall fall into the com- | |
mon error of those who, when they had the pow- | |
er to enjoy, had not the prndence to acquire ; | |
and when they had the prnience to acquire, had | |
no longer the power to enjoy.— Colton. . | |
O Heaven ! that one might read the book of | |
fate, and sec the revolution of the times.— | |
Shakespeare. | |
Futurity is impregnable to mortal ken: no | |
prayer picrees throngh heaven's adamantine | |
walls. Whether the birds fly right or left, | |
whatever be the aspect of the stars, the book of | |
nature is a maze, dreams are a lie, and every | |
sign a falsehood.— Schiller. | |
When all else is lost, the future still re- | |
mains.—Bovee. | |
There is, I know not how, in the minds of | |
men, a certain presage, as it were, of a future | |
existence, and this takes the deepest root, and is | |
most discoverable, in the greatest geniuses and | |
most exalted souls.—Cicero. | |
‘The future docs not come from before to | |
meet us, but comes streaming up from behind | |
over our heads,— Rake. | |
--- Chunk 3, Page 12 --- | |
FUTURITY. 1 | |
94 FUTURITY. | |
The veit which covers the face of futurity is | |
woven by the hand of mercy.—Bulwer Lytton. | |
Why wil) any man be so impertinently | |
officions as to tell me all prospect of a future | |
state is only fancy and delusion? Is there an | |
merit in being the messenger of ill news? If it | |
is a dream, fet ime enjoy it, since it makes me | |
both the happier and better man.—Addison. | |
We are always looking into the future, but | |
we see only the past.—Afadame Sweteliine. | |
Sure there is none but fears a: future state ; | |
and when the most obdurate swear, do not | |
their trembling hearts belie their boasting | |
tongues.—Dryden. | |
We are born fora higher destiny than that | |
of earth; there is a realm where the rainbow | |
never fades, where the stars will be spread be- | |
fore us like islands that slumber on the ocean, | |
— and where the beings that pass before us like | |
shadows will stay in our presence forever.— | |
Bulwer Lytton. | |
How narrow our souls become avhen -ab- | |
sorbed in any present good or ill! it is only | |
the thought of the future that makes them great. | |
Richter. ; | |
The golden age is not in the past, but in the | |
future ; not in the origin of human experience, | |
but in its consummate flower; not opening in | |
Eden, but out from Gethsemane.—Chapin. | |
O, if this were seen, the happiest youth — | |
viewing his progress through, what perils past, | |
what crosses to ensue — would shut the book | |
and sit him down and die.—Shakespeare. | |
Since we stay not here, being people but of | |
a day’s abode, and our age is like that of a fly, | |
aud contemporary with that of a gourd, we | |
must look somewhere else for an abiding city, a | |
place in another country, to fix our house in, | |
whose walls and foundation is God, where we | |
must rest, or else be restless forever.— | |
Jeremy Taylor. | |
We may believe that we shall know each | |
other’s forms hereafter ; and in the bright fields | |
of the better land call the lost dead to 1 . | |
eels. | |
If that marvellous microcosm, man, with all | |
the costly cargo of his faculties and powers, were | |
indced a rich argosy, fitted out and freighted | |
only for shipwreck and destruction, who | |
amongst us that tolerate the present only from | |
the hope of the future, who that have any as- | |
pirings of a high and intellectual nature about | |
them, contd be brought to submit to the dis- | |
gusting mortifications of the voyage ? —Colton. | |
It is vain to be always looking towards the | |
future and never acting towards it— | |
J. EF. Boyes. | |
The dead carry our thoughts to another and | |
a nobler existence. They teach us, and espe- | |
cially by all the strange and seemingly unto- | |
ward circumstances of their departure from this | |
life, that they and we shall live in a future state | |
forever.— Orville Dewey. | |
It is easy to see, hard to foresee.— Franklin. | |
We bewail our friends as if there were no | |
better fnturity yonder, and bewail ourselves as | |
{if there were no better futnrity here; for all | |
j our passions are born atheists and infidels.— | |
Richter. | |
It is one of God’s blessings that we cannot | |
foreknow the hour of our death; for a time | |
fixed, even beyond the possibility of living, | |
would trouble us more than doth this uncer- | |
tainty.—/ames the Sixth. | |
Divine wisdom, intending to detain us some | |
time on earth, has done well to cover with a | |
yeil the prospect of life to come; for if our sight | |
could clearly distinguish the apposite bank, who | |
would remain on this tempestuous coast ?— | |
Madame de Staél. | |
It is heaven itself that points out an here- | |
after, and intimates eternity to man.—Addison. | |
My mind can take no hold on the present | |
world, nor rest in it a moment, but my whole | |
nature rushes onward with irresistible force to- | |
wards a future and better state of being. —Fichte. | |
The grand difficulty is to feel the reality of | |
both worlds, so as to give each its due place in | |
our thonghts and feclings, to keep our mind’s | |
eye and our heart’s eye ever fixed on the land | |
of promise, without looking away from the road | |
along which we are to travel toward it—Hare. | |
To me thore is something thrilling and ex- | |
alting in the thought that we are drifting for- | |
ward into a splendid mystery, — into something | |
that no mortal eye has yet seen, no intelligence | |
has yet declared. — Chapin. : | |
1 | |
a 4 | |
Look not mournfully into the past, — it | |
comes not back again; wisely improve the pres- | |
ent, —it is thine ; go forth to meet the shadowy | |
future without fear, and with 2 manly heart.— | |
Longfellow. | |
God will not suffer man to have the knowl- | |
edge of things to come; for if he had prescience | |
‘of his prosperity, he would be careless ; and, un- | |
derstanding of his adversity, he would be sense- | |
less.—St. Augustine. | |
i | |
--- Chunk 3, Page 13 --- | |
GALLANTRY. | |
GAMBLING. | |
GALLANTRY. | |
Gallantry thrives most in the:atmosphere of | |
the court.—illadame Neeker. | |
A gallant man is above ill words.—Selden. | |
Love is the smallest part of gallantry.— | |
Rochefoueauld. | |
Gallantry, though a fashionable crime, is a | |
very detestable one; and the wretch who pilfers | |
from ns in the hour of distress is an innocent | |
character compared to the plunderer who wan- | |
tonly robs us of happiness and reputation — | |
tev. Hf. Kelley. | |
The gallantry of the mind consists in agree- | |
able flattery. —Hochefoucauld. | |
GAMBLING, | |
Gaming is the destruction of all decorum; | |
the prince forgets at it his dignity, and the lady | |
her modesty.—.Marchioness d’ Alembert. | |
Keep flax from fire, youth from gaming.— | |
Franklin. | |
Gambling houses are temples where the most | |
sordid and turbulent passions contend ; there no | |
spectator can be indifferent. A card or a small | |
square of ivory interests more than the loss of | |
‘an empire, or the ruin of an unoffending group | |
of infants, and their nearest relatives.— | |
Zimmermann. | |
Who gets by play proves loser in the end.— | |
FFeath. | |
T look upon every man as a suicide from the | |
moment he takes the dice-box desperately in his | |
hand; and all that follows in his fatal career | |
from that*time is only sharpening the dagger | |
before he strikes it to his heart —Cumberland. | |
It is possible that a wise and good man may | |
be prevailed on to game; butit is impossible | |
that a professed gamester should be-a wise and | |
good man.—Lavater. | |
Gaming is a vice the more dangerous as it | |
is decvitful; and, contrary to every other species | |
‘of luxury, flateers its votaries with the hopes of | |
increasing their wealth ; so that avarice itself is | |
so far from securing us against its temptations | |
that it often betrays the more thoughtless and | |
giddy part of mankind into them.—/‘elding. | |
The gamester, if he die’a martyr to his pro- | |
fession, is doubly ruined. He adds his sou! to | |
every other loss, and by the ‘act of suicide, re- | |
nounees carth to forfeit heaven.— Colton. | |
Play not for gain, but sport; who plays for | |
more than he can lose with pleasure stakes his | |
heart.—George ILerbert. | |
An assembly of the states, a court of justice, | |
shows nothing so serious and graye as a table | |
of gamesters playing very high ; « melancholy | |
solicitude clouds their looks : envy and rancor | |
agitate their minds while the meeting lasts, | |
without regard to friendship, alliances, birth, or | |
distinctions.—-Bruyére. | |
It is lost'at dice, what ancient honor won.— | |
. Shakespeare. | |
If thy desire to raise thy fortunes encourage | |
thy delights to the casts of fortune, be wise be- | |
times, lest thou repent too late; what thou get- | |
test, thou gainest by abused providence; what | |
thou losest, thou losest by abused patience ; | |
what thon winnest is prodigally spent; what | |
thou losest is prodigally lost ; itis an evil trade | |
that prodigality drives; and a bad voyage | |
where the pilot is blind.— Quarles. | |
Games of chance are traps to eatch school- | |
boy novices and gaping country squires, who | |
begin with’a guinca and end with a mortgage. | |
Cumberland, | |
The exercises I wholly condemn are dicing | |
and carding, especially if you play for any great | |
sum of money, or spend any time in them, or | |
use to come to meetings in dicing-houses, where | |
cheaters mect and cozen young gentlemen outs | |
of all their moncy.—Lord Herbert. | |
Gaming is the child of avarice, but the par- | |
ent of prodigality.—Colton. | |
Sports and gaming, whether pursned from a | |
desire of gain or love of pleasure, are as ruinous | |
to the temper and disposition of the party ad- | |
dicted to them, as they are to his fame and for- | |
tune.— Burton. | |
Gaming finds a man a cully, and leaves him | |
‘a knave.—T. Hughes. | |
The coldness of ‘a losing gamester lessens | |
the pleasure of the winner. Pvould no more | |
play with aman that slighted his ill fortune | |
than I would make love to a8 woman who un- | |
dervalued the loss of her reputation. —Congreve. | |
All gaming, since it implies a desire to prof | |
it at the expense of another, involves a breach | |
of the tenth commandment.— Whately. | |
It is well for gamesters that they are so na- | |
merous as to make a society of themselves; for | |
it would be a strange abuse of terms to rank | |
those among society at large, whose profession | |
it is to prey pon all who compose it.— | |
Cumberland, | |
By gaming we lose both our time and treas- | |
ure, — two things most precious to the life of | |
man.—Feltham. | |
--- Chunk 3, Page 14 --- | |
GAYETY. | |
196 | |
GENEROSITY. | |
The passion of gaming is almost never un- | |
accompanied ; and, to those of our sex especial- | |
ly, is always the source or the occasion of all the | |
others.— Massillon. | |
Be assured that, althongh men of eminent | |
genius have been guilty of all other vices, none | |
worthy of more than a secondary name has ever | |
been a gainester. Hither an cxcess of avarice, | |
or a deficiency of what, in physics, is called ex- | |
citability, is the cause of it; neither of which | |
can exist in the same bosom_with genius, with | |
patriotism, or with virtue—LZandor. | |
Lookers-on many times see more than game- | |
ster's.— Bacon. | |
There is nothing that wears out/a fine face | |
like the vigils of a card-table, and those entting | |
passions which naturally attend them. Hag- | |
gard looks and pale complexions are the natu- | |
ral indications of a female gamester—Addison. | |
It is the child of avarice, the brother of in- | |
iquity, and the father of mischief.— IVashington. | |
That reproach of modern times, that gulf of | |
time and fortune, the passion for gaming, which | |
is so often the refnge of the idle sons of pleasnre | |
and often, alas! the last resource of the ruined. | |
lair. | |
Gaming has been resorted to by the affluent | |
as:a refuge from ennui; it is a mental dram, | |
and may succeed for & moment, but, like all | |
other stimuli, it produees indirect debility ; and | |
those who have recourse to it will find that the | |
sources of their ennui are far more inexhansti- | |
ble than those of their purse.— Colton. | |
GAYETY. | |
Gayety pleases more when we are assured that | |
it does not cover carelessness. —Aadame de Staél. | |
Gayety is to good-humor as animal perfumes, | |
to vegetable fragrance. The one overpowers | |
weak spirits, the other recreates and revives | |
them. Gayety seldom fails to give some pain ; | |
good-humor boasts no faculties which every | |
one does not believe in his own power, and | |
pleases principally by not offending.— Johnson. | |
Some people are commended for a giddy | |
kind of good-humor, which is as much a virtue | |
as drunkenness.—Pope. | |
Is there anything in life so lovely and poet- | |
ical as the ‘Jaugh and merriment of a young | |
girl, who, still in harmony with all her powers, | |
sports with you in luxuriant freedom, and in | |
her mirthfilness neither despises nor dislikes? | |
Her gravity is seldom as innocent as her play- | |
fulness; still less that haughty discontent which | |
converts the youthful Psyche into a dull, thick, | |
buzzing, wing-drooping night-moth.—AHichter. | |
Gayety is the soul’s health; sadness is its | |
poison.—Stanislaus. | |
Leaves seem light and uscless, and idle | |
and wavering, and changeable,—they even | |
dance ; yet God has made them part of the oak. | |
In so doing, he has given ns a lesson, not to | |
deny the stout-leartedness within because we | |
see the lightsomeness without.—Zeigh Hunt. | |
Gayety is often the reckless ripple over | |
depths of despair — Chajin. | |
GENEROSITY. | |
Any one may do a casual act of good-na- | |
ture; but a continuation of them shows it a | |
part of the temperament.—Sterne. | |
Some are unwisely liberal; and more de- | |
light to give presents than to pay debts.— | |
Sir P. Sidney. | |
A giving hand, though foul, shall have fair | |
praise.— Shakespeare. | |
There isa story of some mountains of salt | |
in Cumana, which never diminished, though | |
earried away in much abundance by merchants ; | |
but when once they were monopolized to the | |
benefit of... private purse, then the salt de- | |
creased, till atterwards all were allowed to take | |
of it, when it had a new access and increase. | |
The trnth of this story may be uncertain, but | |
the application is true; he that envies others | |
the use of his gifts decays then, but he thrives | |
most that is most diffusive—Spencer. | |
Generosity, wrong placed, becometh a vice ; | |
a princely mind will undo a private family — | |
Fuller. | |
True generosity is a duty as indispensably | |
necessary as those imposed upon us by the law. | |
It is a rnle imposed upon us by reason, which | |
should be the sovereign law of a rational being. | |
, Geldsmith. | |
The generous who is always just, and the | |
just who is always generous, may, unan- | |
nounced, approach the throne of Heaven.— | |
Lavater. | |
When you give, take to yourself no credit | |
for generosity, unless yon deny yourself some- | |
thing in order that you may give.— | |
Henry Taylor. | |
Bounty, being free itself, thinks -all others | |
$0.-—Shakespeare. . | |
Men of the noblest dispositions think them- | |
selves happiest when others share their happi- | |
ness with them.—Duncan. | |
There is greatness in being generous, and | |
there is only simple justice in satisfying credi- | |
tors. Generosity is the part of the soul raised | |
above the vulgar.— Goldsmith. | |
The secret pleasure of a generous act is the | |
great mind’s great bribe —Dryden. | |
--- Chunk 3, Page 15 --- | |
GENEROSITY. | |
197 | |
GENIUS. | |
All my experience of the world teaches me | |
that in ninety-nine cases ont of a hundred the | |
safe side*and the just side of a question is the | |
geucrous side and the merciful side.— ‘ | |
‘ulfrs. Jameson. | |
To this world, it is not what we take up, but | |
what we give up, that makes us rich.— Beecher. | |
O the world is but a-word ; were it all yours | |
to give it ia a breath, how quickly were it | |
gone ! —Shakespeare. | |
There is no grace in a benefit that sticks to | |
the fingers.—Seneca. | |
Wherever I find a great deal of gratitude in | |
a poor man, I take it for granted there wonld | |
be as inuch generosity if he were a rich man.— | |
Pope. | |
What seems to be pencrosity is often no | |
more than disguised ambition ; which overlooks | |
a small interest, in order to gratify a great one. | |
Rochefoucauld. | |
Generosity during life is a very different | |
thing from gencrosity in the hour of death ; one | |
proceeds from, genuine liberality ‘and benevo- | |
lence, the other from pride or fear. | |
Lorace Mann. | |
Almost always the most indigent are the | |
most generous.— Stanislaus. | |
The reputation of gencrosity is to be pnr- | |
chased pretty cheap; it docs not depend so | |
much upon a man’s general expense, as it docs | |
npon his giving handsomely where it is proper | |
to give ac all. iA man, for instance, who shouhl | |
give a servant four shillings would pass for cov- | |
etous, while he who gave him a crown would | |
be reckoned generous; so that the difference of | |
those two opposite characters turns upon one | |
shilling — Chesterfield. | |
How much casier it is to be gencrous than | |
just! Men are sometimes bountiful who are | |
not honest.—Juntus. | |
He that gives-all, thongh but little, gives | |
much ; because God looks not to the quantity of | |
the gift, but to the quality of the givers: he that | |
desires to give more than he can hath equalled | |
his gift to his desire, and hath given more than | |
he hath.—Quarles. | |
If theré be any truer measure of a-man than | |
by what he docs, it must be by what he gives.— | |
. “South. | |
One great reason why men practise gencros- | |
ity so little in the world Is their finding so little | |
there. Gencrosity.is catching ; ‘and if so many | |
eseape it, it is in @ small degree for the same | |
reason that countrymen escape the small-pox, | |
—becanse they meet with no one to give it to | |
them.—Lord Greville. ° | |
It is not enongh to _help.the feeble up, but | |
to support him after.— Shakespeare. | |
He who gives what he would as readily | |
throw away gives withont geucrosity ; for the | |
essence of generosity is in self-sacritice.— | |
Henry Taylor. | |
They that do an.act that docs deserve re- | |
quital pay first themselves the stock of such | |
content.—Sir Lobert Lloward. | |
GENIUS. | |
The effusions of genius are entitled to admi- | |
ration rather than apphiuse, as they are chiefly | |
the effect of natural endowment, and sometimes | |
appear to be almost involuntary.— WW. B. Clulow. | |
Genius may at times want the spur, but it | |
stands as often in need of the curb.—Longinus. | |
Nature seems to delight in disappointing the | |
-assiduities of art, with which it would rear dul- | |
uess to maturity, and to glory in the vigor and | |
Inxuriance of her chance productions. She | |
seatters the seeds of genius to the winds, and | |
thongh some may perish among the stony | |
places of the world, and some may be choked | |
by the thorns and brambles of carly auversity, | |
yet others will now and then strike root even in | |
the clefts of the rock, struggle bravely up into | |
sunshine, «and spread over their sterile birth- | |
place all the beauties of vegetation. — | |
Washington Irving. | |
Genius is the instinct of enterprise. A boy | |
came |
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