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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
Hurts
Praise
Hurt
Commends
Lavishly

More quotes by Charles Churchill

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If you mean to profit, learn to praise.
Charles Churchill
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With that malignant envy which turns pale, And sickens, even if a friend prevail.
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He mouths a sentence as curs mouth a bone.
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Nor waste their sweetness in the desert air.
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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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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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The rigid saint, by whom no mercy's shown To saints whose lives are better than his own.
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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.
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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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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The surest way to health, say what they will, Is never to suppose we shall be ill Most of the ills which we poor mortals know From doctors and imagination flow.
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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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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.
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Genius is independent of situation.
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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.
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Patience is sorrow's salve.
Charles Churchill
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Man and wife, Coupled together for the sake of strife.
Charles Churchill
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Genius is of no country.
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It can't be Nature, for it is not sense.
Charles Churchill
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Quick-circulating slanders mirth afford and reputation bleeds in every word.
Charles Churchill