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Shame on those breasts of stone that cannot melt in soft adoption of another's sorrow.

Aaron Hill

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Aaron Hill
Age: 64 †
Born: 1685
Born: February 10
Died: 1750
Died: February 8
Essayist
Playwright
Poet
Writer
Tears
Melt
Another
Adoption
Cannot
Breasts
Soft
Stone
Stones
Shame
Sorrow

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O marriage! marriage! what a curse is thine, Where hands alone consent and hearts abhor.
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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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Let shining Charity adorn your zeal, The noblest impulse generous minds can feel.
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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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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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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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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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Birth is a shadow. Courage, self-sustained, outlords succession's phlegm, and needs no ancestors.
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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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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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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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Joys, which we do not know, we do not wish.
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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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Trust me--with women worth the being won, The softest lover ever best succeeds.
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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 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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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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Union of hearts, not hands, does a marriage make, and sympathy of mind keeps love awake.
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Man is the circled oak woman the ivy.
Aaron Hill