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He hurts me most who lavishly commends.

Charles Churchill

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Charles Churchill
Died: 1764
Died: November 4
Poet
Writer
City of Westminster
Lavishly
Hurts
Praise
Hurt
Commends

More quotes by Charles Churchill

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Ourselves are to ourselves the cause of ill.
Charles Churchill
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The oak, when living, monarch of the wood The English oak, which, dead, commands the flood.
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Weak is that throne, and in itself unsound, Which takes not solid virtue for its ground.
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It can't be Nature, for it is not sense.
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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.
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Truth! why shall every wretch of letters Dare to speak truth against his betters! Let ragged virtue stand aloof, Nor mutter accents of reproof Let ragged wit a mute become, When wealth and power would have her dumb.
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Even in a hero's heart Discretion is the better part.
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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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Man and wife, Coupled together for the sake of strife.
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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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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Who all in raptures their own works rehearse, And drawl out measur'd prose, which they call verse.
Charles Churchill
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Be England what she will, With all her faults she is my country still.
Charles Churchill
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Genius is of no country her pure ray Spreads all abroad, as general as the day.
Charles Churchill
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If you mean to profit, learn to praise.
Charles Churchill
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Drawn by conceit from reason's plan How vain is that poor creature man How pleas'd in ev'ry paltry elf To grate about that thing himself.
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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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Patience is sorrow's salve.
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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England a fortune-telling host, As num'rous as the stars, could boast Matrons, who toss the cup, and see The grounds of Fate in grounds of tea.
Charles Churchill