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Let never man be bold enough to say, Thus, and no farther shall my passion stray: The first crime, past, compels us into more, And guilt grows fate, that was but choice, before.

Aaron Hill

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Aaron Hill
Age: 64 †
Born: 1685
Born: February 10
Died: 1750
Died: February 8
Essayist
Playwright
Poet
Writer
Men
Grows
Farther
Life
Passion
Bold
Choices
Guilt
Past
Thus
Firsts
Fate
First
Choice
Enough
Crime
Compels
Never
Shall
Stray

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Union of hearts, not hands, does a marriage make, and sympathy of mind keeps love awake.
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Shame on those breasts of stone that cannot melt in soft adoption of another's sorrow.
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Oh, treacherous night thou lendest thy ready veil to every treason, and teeming mischief's beneath thy shade.
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Deceit is the false road to happiness and all the joys we travel through to vice, like fairy banquets, vanish when we touch them.
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Reason gains all people by compelling none.
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Shun fear, it is the ague of the soul! a passion man created for himself--for sure that cramp of nature could not dwell in the warm realms of glory.
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Letters, from absent friends, extinguish fear, Unite division, and draw distance near Their magic force each silent wish conveys, And wafts embodied though, a thousand ways: Could souls to bodies write, death's pow'r were mean, For minds could then meet minds with heav'n between.
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Servile doubt argues an impotence of mind, that says we fear because we dare not meet misfortunes.
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Tender-handed stroke a nettle, And it stings you for your pains Grasp it like a man of mettle, And it soft as silk remains. 'Tis the same with common natures: Use 'em kindly, they rebel But be rough as nutmeg-graters, And the rogues obey you well.
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Let shining Charity adorn your zeal, The noblest impulse generous minds can feel.
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O marriage! marriage! what a curse is thine, Where hands alone consent and hearts abhor.
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Order, thou eye of action.
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Hide not thy tears weep boldly, and be proud to give the flowing virtue manly way it is nature's mark to know an honest heart by.
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Youth is ever apt to judge in haste, and lose the medium in the wild extreme.
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Birth is a shadow. Courage, self-sustained, outlords succession's phlegm, and needs no ancestors.
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The man who pauses on the paths of treason, Halts on a quicksand, the first step engulfs him.
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Mischief and malice grow on the same branch of the tree of evil.
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The man with but one idea in his head is sure to exaggerate that to top-heaviness, and thus he loses his equilibrium.
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Joys, which we do not know, we do not wish.
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When Christ at Cana's feast by pow'r divine, Inspir'd cold water, with the warmth of wine, See! cry'd they while, in red'ning tide, it gush'd, The bashful stream hath seen its God and blush'd.
Aaron Hill