And my father!-oh, my father! evil is it with his daughter, when his grey hairs are not remembered because of the golden locks of youth!
Chivalry!---why, maiden, she is the nurse of pure and high affection---the stay of the oppressed, the redresser of grievances, the curb of the power of the tyrant ---Nobility were but an empty name without her, and liberty finds the best protection in her lance and her sword.
For he that does good, having the unlimited power to do evil, deserves praise not only for the good which he performs, but for the evil which he forbears.
I envy thee not thy faith, which is ever in thy mouth but never in thy heart nor in thy practice
Now, it is well known, that a man may with more impunity be guilty of an actual breach either of real good breeding or of good morals, than appear ignorant of the most minute point of fashionable etiquette.
Silence, maiden; thy tongue outruns thy discretion.
Thou hast had thty day, old dame, but thy sun has long been set. Thou art now the very emblem of an old warhorse turned out on the barren heath; thou hast had thy paces in thy time, but now a broken amble is the best of them.
We are like the herb which flourisheth most when trampled upon
Unless a tree has borne blossoms in spring, you will vainly look for fruit on it in autumn.
Rouse the lion from his lair.
'Charge, Chester, charge on, Stanley, on' Were the last words of Marmion.
We build statues out of snow, and weep to see them melt.
Respect was mingled with surprise, And the stern joy which warriors feel In foemen worthy of their steel.
Affection can withstand very severe storms of vigor, but not a long polar frost of indifference.
But search the land of living men, Where wilt thou find their like again.
For a laggard in love, and a dastard in war, Was to wed the fair Ellen of Lochinvar.
Breathes there the man, with soul so dead, Who never to himself hath said, This is my own, my native land Whose heart hath neer within him burnd, As home his footsteps he hath turnd From wandering on a foreign strand If such there breathe, go mark him well For him no Minstrel raptures swell High though his titles, proud his name, Boundless his wealth as wish can claim Despite those titles, power, and pelf, The wretch, concentred all in self, Living, shall forfeit fair renown, And, doubly dying, shall go down To the vile dust, from whence he sprung, Unwept, unhonord, and unsung.
Oh for a blast of that dread horn On Fontarabian echoes borne.
The rose is fairest when tis budding new.
Widowed wife and wedded maid.
Soldier rest thy warfare oer, Sleep the sleep thast knows not breaking, Dream of battled fields no more, Days of danger, nights of waking.
The race of mankind would perish did they cease to aid each other. We cannot exist without mutual help. All therefore that need aid have a right to ask it from their fellow-men; and no one who has the power of granting can refuse it without guilt.
And better had they ne'er been born, Who read to doubt, or read to scorn.
Vacant heart, and hand, and eye, Easy live and quiet die.
Where, where was Roderick then One blast upon his bugle horn Were worth a thousand men.
One crowded hour of glorious life is worth an age without a name.
Some feelings are to mortals given With less of earth in them than heaven.
Woman's faith and woman's trust, Write the characters in dust.
It 's no fish ye 're buying, it 's men's lives.
He turn'd his charger as he spake, Upon the river shore, He gave his bridle reins a shake, Said, 'Adieu for evermore, my love, And adieu for evermore.'
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