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
Like
Raising
Lawless
Base
Marshes
Shining
Spoils
Thus
Turbulence
Pride
Vapor
Fulsome
Morning
Shines
Vapors
Upon
Indulgence
Noxious
Ever
Spoil
Marsh

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Heaven often smites in mercy, even when the blow is severest.
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She who only finds her self-esteem In others' admiration, begs an alms Depends on others for her daily food, And is the very servant of her slaves Tho' oftentimes, in a fantastic hour, O'er men she may a childish pow'r exert, Which not ennobles but degrades her state.
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The bliss even of a moment still is bliss.
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Men's actions to futurity appear but as the events to which they are conjoined do give them consequence.
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Still on it creeps, Each little moment at another's heels, Till hours, days, years, and ages are made up Of such small parts as these, and men look back Worn and bewilder'd, wondering how it is.
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Good-morrow to thy sable beak, And glossy plumage, dark and sleek, Thy crimson moon and azure eye
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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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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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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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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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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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But woman's grief is like a summer storm, Short as it violent is.
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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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A willing heart adds feather to the heel.
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I am as one Who doth attempt some lofty mountain's height, And having gained what to the upcast eye The summit's point appear'd, astonished sees Its cloudy top, majestic and enlarged, Towering aloft, as distant as before.
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The plainest case in many words entangling.
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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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But dreams full oft are found of real events The form and shadows.
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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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It is so seldom that a young fellow has any inclination for the company of an old man. . .
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