Quote

Tis ever thus: indulgence spoils the base Raising up pride, and lawless turbulence, Like noxious vapors from the fulsome marsh When morning shines upon it.

Joanna Baillie

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Joanna Baillie
Age: 88 †
Born: 1762
Born: September 11
Died: 1851
Died: February 23
Playwright
Poet
Tragedy Writer
Writer
Joanna Baillie
Base
Marshes
Shining
Spoils
Thus
Turbulence
Pride
Vapor
Fulsome
Morning
Shines
Vapors
Upon
Indulgence
Noxious
Ever
Spoil
Marsh
Like
Raising
Lawless

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A woman is seldom roused to great and courageous exertion but when something most dear to her is in immediate danger.
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The inward sighs of humble penitence Rise to the ear of Heaven, when peal'd hymns Are scatter'd with the sounds of common air.
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Pride is a fault that great men blush not to own: it is the ennobled offspring of self-love though, it must be confessed, grave and pompous vanity, Iike a fat plebeian in a rove of office, does very often assume its name.
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Ah! happy is the man whose early lot Hath made him master of a furnish'd cot Who trains the vine that round his window grows, And after setting sun his garden hoes Whose wattled pails his own enclosure shield, Who toils not daily in another's field.
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But dreams full oft are found of real events The form and shadows.
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I wish I were with some of the wild people that run in the woods, and know nothing about accomplishments!
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There is a sight all hearts beguiling-- A youthful mother to her infant smiling, Who with spread arms and dancing feet, A cooing voice, returns its answer sweet.
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Busy work brings after ease Ease brings sport and sport brings rest For young and old, of all degrees, The mingled lot is best.
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I have seen the day, when, if a man made himself ridiculous, the world would laugh at him. But now, everything that is mean, disgusting, and absurd, pleases them but so much the better!
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Stand there, damn'd meddling villain, and be silent For if thou utt'rest but a single word, A cough or hem, to cross me in my speech, I'll send thy cursed spirit from the earth, To bellow with the damn'd!
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Time never bears such moments on his wing as when he flies too swiftly to be marked.
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A good man's prayers will from the deepest dungeon climb heaven's height, and bring a blessing down.
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O lovely Sisters! is it true That they are all inspired by you, And write by inward magic charm'd, And high enthusiasm warm'd?
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But woman's grief is like a summer storm, Short as it violent is.
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It is so seldom that a young fellow has any inclination for the company of an old man. . .
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A willing heart adds feather to the heel.
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Heaven often smites in mercy, even when the blow is severest.
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Oh swiftly glides the bonnie boat, Just parted from the shore, And to the fisher's chorus-note Soft moves the dipping oar.
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The plainest case in many words entangling.
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The bliss even of a moment still is bliss.
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