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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
Hurt
Commends
Lavishly
Hurts
Praise

More quotes by Charles Churchill

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Genius is independent of situation.
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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With curious art the brain, too finely wrought, Preys on herself, and is destroyed by thought.
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.
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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.
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Enough of satire in less harden'd times Great was her force, and mighty were her rhymes. I've read of men, beyond man's daring brave, Who yet have trembled at the strokes she gave Whose souls have felt more terrible alarms From her one line, than from a world in arms.
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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The rigid saint, by whom no mercy's shown To saints whose lives are better than his own.
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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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.
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Quick-circulating slanders mirth afford and reputation bleeds in every word.
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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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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By different methods different men excel, but where is he who can do all things well?
Charles Churchill
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Weak is that throne, and in itself unsound, Which takes not solid virtue for its ground.
Charles Churchill
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Ourselves are to ourselves the cause of ill.
Charles Churchill
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Constant attention wears the active mind, Blots out our pow'rs, and leaves a blank behind.
Charles Churchill
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It can't be Nature, for it is not sense.
Charles Churchill
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Be England what she will, With all her faults she is my country still.
Charles Churchill