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The man who pauses on the paths of treason, Halts on a quicksand, the first step engulfs him.

Aaron Hill

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Aaron Hill
Age: 64 †
Born: 1685
Born: February 10
Died: 1750
Died: February 8
Essayist
Playwright
Poet
Writer
Steps
Engulfs
Path
Halts
Firsts
Quicksand
First
Treason
Men
Halt
Pauses
Paths
Step

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Trust me--with women worth the being won, The softest lover ever best succeeds.
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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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Let shining Charity adorn your zeal, The noblest impulse generous minds can feel.
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Mischief and malice grow on the same branch of the tree of evil.
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Youth is ever apt to judge in haste, and lose the medium in the wild extreme.
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Customs form us all, our thoughts, our morals, our most fixed beliefs are consequences of our place of birth.
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Man is the circled oak woman the ivy.
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There is no merit where there is no trial and till experience stamps the mark of strength, cowards may pass for heroes, and faith for falsehood.
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Union of hearts, not hands, does a marriage make, and sympathy of mind keeps love awake.
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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.
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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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Courage is poorly housed that dwells in numbers the lion never counts the herd that are about him, nor weighs how many flocks he has to scatter.
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Reason gains all people by compelling none.
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Art, however innocent, looks like deceiving.
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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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First, then, a woman will, or won't, - depend on't If she will do't, she will and there's an end on't. But, if she won't, since safe and sound your trust is, Fear is affront: and jealousy injustice.
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Order, thou eye of action.
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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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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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