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Nor waste their sweetness in the desert air.

Charles Churchill

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Charles Churchill
Died: 1764
Died: November 4
Poet
Writer
City of Westminster
Sweetness
Desert
Waste
Air

More quotes by Charles Churchill

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Genius is of no country.
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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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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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Greatly his foes he dreads, but more his friends He hurts me most who lavishly commends.
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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.
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Even in a hero's heart Discretion is the better part.
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Be England what she will, With all her faults she is my country still.
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With curious art the brain, too finely wrought, Preys on herself, and is destroyed by thought.
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With that malignant envy which turns pale, And sickens, even if a friend prevail.
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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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He hurts me most who lavishly commends.
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He mouths a sentence as curs mouth a bone.
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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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The best things carried to excess are wrong.
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Patience is sorrow's salve.
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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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Man and wife, Coupled together for the sake of strife.
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Ourselves are to ourselves the cause of ill.
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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?
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Amongst the sons of men how few are known Who dare be just to merit not their own.
Charles Churchill