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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
Shame
Sorrow
Tears
Melt
Another
Adoption
Cannot
Breasts
Soft
Stone
Stones

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She who means no mischief does it all.
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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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Art, however innocent, looks like deceiving.
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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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Reason gains all people by compelling none.
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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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O marriage! marriage! what a curse is thine, Where hands alone consent and hearts abhor.
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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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Trust me--with women worth the being won, The softest lover ever best succeeds.
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Law that shocks equity is reason's murderer.
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Union of hearts, not hands, does a marriage make, and sympathy of mind keeps love awake.
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Mischief and malice grow on the same branch of the tree of evil.
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Birth is a shadow. Courage, self-sustained, outlords succession's phlegm, and needs no ancestors.
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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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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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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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Let shining Charity adorn your zeal, The noblest impulse generous minds can feel.
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Joys, which we do not know, we do not wish.
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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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