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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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Charles Churchill
Died: 1764
Died: November 4
Poet
Writer
City of Westminster
Active
Constant
Behinds
Behind
Blots
Attention
Pow
Mind
Wears
Blank
Leaves

More quotes by Charles Churchill

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Genius is independent of situation.
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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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Quick-circulating slanders mirth afford and reputation bleeds in every word.
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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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.
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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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Wit, who never once Forgave a brother, shall forgive a dunce.
Charles Churchill
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Nor waste their sweetness in the desert air.
Charles Churchill
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Genius is of no country.
Charles Churchill
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Even in a hero's heart Discretion is the better part.
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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Who all in raptures their own works rehearse, And drawl out measur'd prose, which they call verse.
Charles Churchill
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Patience is sorrow's salve.
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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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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Ourselves are to ourselves the cause of ill.
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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It can't be Nature, for it is not sense.
Charles Churchill
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And reputation bleeds in ev'ry word.
Charles Churchill
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With that malignant envy which turns pale, And sickens, even if a friend prevail.
Charles Churchill