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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
Commends
Lavishly
Hurts
Praise
Hurt

More quotes by Charles Churchill

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Satire, whilst envy and ill-humor sway The mind of man, must always make her way Nor to a bosom, with discretion fraught, Is all her malice worth a single thought. The wise have not the will, nor fools the power, To stop her headstrong course within the hour Left to herself, she dies opposing strife Gives her fresh vigor, and prolongs her life.
Charles Churchill
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To copy faults is want of sense.
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.
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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Whom drink made wits, though nature made them fools.
Charles Churchill
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With that malignant envy which turns pale, And sickens, even if a friend prevail.
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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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.
Charles Churchill
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Patience is sorrow's salve.
Charles Churchill
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Genius is independent of situation.
Charles Churchill
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Fool beckons fool, and dunce awakens dunce.
Charles Churchill
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The Scots are poor, cries surly English pride True is the charge, nor by themselves denied. Are they not then in strictest reason clear, Who wisely come to mend their fortunes here?
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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Tis mighty easy o'er a glass of wine On vain refinements vainly to refine, To laugh at poverty in plenty's reign, To boast of apathy when out of pain, And in each sentence, worthy of the schools, Varnish'd with sophistry, to deal out rules Most fit for practice, but for one poor fault That into practice they can ne'er be brought.
Charles Churchill
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It can't be Nature, for it is not sense.
Charles Churchill
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Even in a hero's heart Discretion is the better part.
Charles Churchill
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Nature, through all her works, in great degree, Borrows a blessing from variety. Music itself her needful aid requires To rouse the soul, and wake our dying fires.
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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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