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Patience is sorrow's salve.

Charles Churchill

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Charles Churchill
Died: 1764
Died: November 4
Poet
Writer
City of Westminster
Salve
Patience
Sorrow

More quotes by Charles Churchill

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It can't be Nature, for it is not sense.
Charles Churchill
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Within the brain's most secret cells, A certain lord chief justice dwells, Of sov'reign power, whom one and all, With common voice we reason call.
Charles Churchill
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Greatly his foes he dreads, but more his friends He hurts me most who lavishly commends.
Charles Churchill
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Nature listening stood, whilst Shakespeare play'd And wonder'd at the work herself had made.
Charles Churchill
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If you mean to profit, learn to praise.
Charles Churchill
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Gipsies, who every ill can cure, Except the ill of being poor Who charms 'gainst love and agues sell, Who can in hen-roost set a spell, Prepar'd by arts, to them best known To catch all feet except their own, Who, as to fortune, can unlock it, As easily as pick a pocket.
Charles Churchill
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With curious art the brain, too finely wrought, Preys on herself, and is destroyed by thought.
Charles Churchill
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Nor waste their sweetness in the desert air.
Charles Churchill
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When fiction rises pleasing to the eye, men will believe, because they love the lie but truth herself, if clouded with a frown, must have some solemn proof to pass her down.
Charles Churchill
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Great use they have, when in the hands Of one like me, who understands, Who understands the time and place, The person, manner, and the grace, Which fools neglect so that we find, If all the requisites are join'd, From whence a perfect joke must spring, A joke's a very serious thing.
Charles Churchill
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Who, with tame cowardice familiar grown, would hear my thoughts, but fear to speak their own.
Charles Churchill
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Though folly, robed in purple, shines, Though vice exhausts Peruvian mines, Yet shall they tremble and turn pale When satire wields her mighty flail.
Charles Churchill
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By different methods different men excel, but where is he who can do all things well?
Charles Churchill
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Who to patch up his fame, or fill his purse, Still pilfers wretched plans, and makes them worse Like gypsies, lest the stolen brat be known, Defacing first, then claiming for his own.
Charles Churchill
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Enough of self, that darling luscious theme, O'er which philosophers in raptures dream Of which with seeming disregard they write Then prizing most when most they seem to slight.
Charles Churchill
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Who all in raptures their own works rehearse, And drawl out measur'd prose, which they call verse.
Charles Churchill
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He mouths a sentence as curs mouth a bone.
Charles Churchill
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What is this world?--A term which men have got, To signify not one in ten knows what A term, which with no more precision passes To point out herds of men than herds of asses In common use no more it means, we find, Than many fools in same opinions joined.
Charles Churchill
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Old Age, a second child, by nature curst With more and greater evils than the first, Weak, sickly, full of pains: in ev'ry breath Railing at life, and yet afraid of death.
Charles Churchill
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Genius is of no country her pure ray Spreads all abroad, as general as the day.
Charles Churchill