Fear comes from uncertainty. When we are absolutely certain, whether of our worth or worthlessness, we are almost impervious to fear.
Fear comes from uncertainty. When we are absolutely certain, whether of our worth or worthlessness, we are almost impervious to fear.
A little disdain is not amiss; a little scorn is alluring.
Thou liar of the first magnitude.
I nauseate walking tis a country diversion, I loathe the country.
Thus grief still treads upon the heels of pleasure, Married in haste, we may repent at leisure.
I find we are growing serious, and then we are in great danger of being dull.
I know that's a secret, for it's whispered every where.
Beauty is the lover's gift.
See how love and murder will out.
Music has charms to soothe the savage beast, to soften rocks, or bend a knotted oak.
Rise to meet him in a pretty disorder - yes- O, nothing is more alluring than a levee from a couch in some confusion.
Grief walks upon the heels of pleasure; married in haste, we repent at leisure.
Wife, spouse, my dear, joy, jewel, love, sweet-heart and the rest of that nauseous cant, in which men and their wives are so fulsomely familiar.
I chiefly made it my own care to initiate her very infancy in the rudiments of virtue, and to impress upon her tender years a young odium and aversion to the very sight of men.
If there's delight in love, 'Tis when I see that heart, which others bleed for, bleed for me.
Invention flags, his brain goes muddy, and black despair succeeds brown study.
They come together like the Coroner's Inquest, to sit upon the murdered reputations of the week.
Love's but the frailty of the mind, When 'tis not with ambition joined A sickly flame, which, if not fed, expires, And feeding, wastes in self-consuming fires.
They are at the end of the gallery; retired to their tea and scandal, according to their ancient custom.
For blessings ever wait on virtuous deeds, And though late, a sure reward succeeds.
A wit should be no more sincere than a woman constant.
A wit should no more be sincere, than a woman constant one argues a decay of parts, as to other of beauty.
Would she could make of me a saint,Or I of her a sinner.
O ay, letters - I had letters - I am persecuted with letters - I hate letters - nobody knows how to write letters and yet one has 'em, one does not know why - they serve one to pin up one's hair.
Wit must be foiled by wit: cut a diamond with a diamond.
Women are like tricks by sleight of hand, Which, to admire, we should not understand.
I came upstairs into the world for I was born in a cellar.
Where modesty's ill manners, 'tis but fitThat impudence and malice pass for wit.
O, she is the antidote to desire.
Uncertainty and expectation are the joys of life. Security is an insipid thing.
O fie, miss, you must not kiss and tell.
In my conscience I believe the baggage loves me, for she never speaks well of me herself, nor suffers any body else to rail at me.
No mask like open truth to cover lies, As to go naked is the best disguise.
Alack, he's gone the way of all flesh.
For 'tis some virtue, virtue to commend.
Though marriage makes man and wife one flesh, it leaves em still two fools.
There is in true beauty something which vulgar cannot admire.
There is in true beauty, as in courage, something which narrow souls cannot dare to admire.
Nature, to each allots his proper Sphere, But, that forsaken, we like Comets err Toss'd thro' the Void, by some rude Shock we're broke, And all our boasted Fire is lost in Smoke
She once used me with that insolence, that in revenge I took her to pieces sifted her, and separated her failings I studied 'em, and got 'em by rote. The catalogue was so large, that I was not without hopes, one day or other to hate her heartily.
Heaven has no rage like love to hatred turned, nor hell a fury like a woman scorned.
Music hath charms to soothe the savage beast, To soften rocks, or bend a knotted oak. By magic numbers and persuasive sound.
I could find it in my heart to marry thee, purely to be rid of thee.
Defer not till tomorrow to be wise, Tomorrow's sun to thee may never rise.
If this be not love, it is madness, and then it is pardonable.
I am always of the opinion with the learned, if they speak first.
He who closes his ears to the views of others shows little confidence in the integrity of his own views.
Poetry, the eldest sister of all arts, and parent of most.
She likes herself, yet others hates, For that which in herself she prizes; And while she laughs at them, forgets She is the thing that she despises.
A hungry wolf at all the herd will run, In hopes, through many, to make sure of one.
© 2020 Inspirational Stories
© 2020 Inspirational Stories