Miscellaneous Prose Works, Volume 1

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Page 202 - Adrian's horse, confounded that of himself. In vain we compute our felicities by the advantage of our good names, since bad have equal durations, and Thersites is like to live as long as Agamemnon. Who knows whether the best of men be known, or whether there be not more remarkable persons forgot, than any that stand remembered in the known account of time?
Page 93 - Here lies poet Goldsmith, for shortness called Noll, Who wrote like an angel, but talked like poor poll.
Page 71 - To them his heart, his love, his griefs were given, But all his serious thoughts had rest in Heaven. As some tall cliff, that lifts its awful form, Swells from the vale and midway leaves the storm, Though round its breast the rolling clouds are spread, Eternal sunshine settles on its head.
Page 201 - ... tis all one to lie in St. Innocent's churchyard, as in the sands of Egypt: ready to be anything, in the ecstasy of being ever, and as content with six foot as the moles of Adrianus.
Page 204 - There is nothing strictly immortal but immortality ; whatever hath no beginning, may be confident of no end. All others have a dependent being, and within the reach of destruction, which is the peculiar...
Page 163 - The insect youth are on the wing, Eager to taste the honied spring And float amid the liquid noon : Some lightly o'er the current skim, Some show their gaily-gilded trim Quick-glancing to the sun.
Page 94 - When Goldsmith was dying, Dr. Turton said to him, " Your pulse is in greater disorder than it should be, from the degree of fever which you have : is your mind at ease ?" Goldsmith answered it was not.
Page 192 - Now nature is not at variance with art, nor art with nature ; they being both servants of his providence. Art is the perfection of nature. Were the world now as it was the sixth day, there were yet a chaos. Nature hath made one world, and art another. In brief, all things are artificial ; for nature is the art of God...
Page 202 - Epicurus lies deep in Dante's hell, wherein we meet with tombs enclosing souls which denied their immortalities.
Page 185 - Mattins, and by and by gilds the fringes of a cloud and peeps over the Eastern hills, thrusting out his golden horns, like those which decked the brows of Moses when he was forced to wear a veil, because himself had seen the face of God; and still while a man tells the story, the sun gets up higher...

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