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Women have the understanding of the heart, which is better than that of the head.
Samuel Rogers
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Samuel Rogers
Age: 92 †
Born: 1763
Born: July 30
Died: 1855
Died: December 18
Banker
Poet
Writer
Author of an Ode to superstition
S Rogers
Saml Rogers
Women
Better
Heart
Head
Understanding
More quotes by Samuel Rogers
Then never less alone than when alone.
Samuel Rogers
Those that he loved so long and sees no more, Loved and still loves,-not dead, but gone before,- He gathers round him.
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Man to the last is but a froward child So eager for the future, come what may, And to the present so insensible.
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A guardian angel o'er his life presiding, Doubling his pleasures, and his cares dividing.
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Long on the wave reflected lustres of play.
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I am in Rome! Oft as the morning ray Visits these eyes, waking at once I cry, Whence this excess of joy? What has befallen me? And from within a thrilling voice replies, Thou art in Rome! A thousand busy thoughts Rush on my mind, a thousand images And I spring up as girt to run a race!
Samuel Rogers
When a new book is published, read an old one.
Samuel Rogers
Fireside happiness, to hours of ease Blest with that charm, the certainty to please.
Samuel Rogers
A man who attempts to read all the new productions must do as the flea does,--skip.
Samuel Rogers
I came to the place of my birth and cried: The friends of my youth, where are they?--and an echo answered, Where are they?
Samuel Rogers
Every day a little life, a blank to be inscribed with gentle thoughts.
Samuel Rogers
I lived to write, and wrote to live.
Samuel Rogers
Think nothing done while aught remains to do.
Samuel Rogers
Example is a motive of very prevailing force on the actions of men.
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When with care we have raised an imaginary treasure of happiness, we find at last that the materials of the structure are frail and perishing, and the foundation itself is laid in the sand.
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By many a temple half as old as Time.
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Sweet Memory! wafted by thy gentle gale, Oft up the stream of Time I turn my sail.
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The hour arrives, the moment wish'd and fear'd, The child is born by many a pang endear'd And now the mother's ear has caught his cry O grant the cherub to her asking eye! He comes--she clasps him. To her bosom press'd He drinks the balm of life, and drops to rest.
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Gentle to others, to himself severe.
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Go! you may call it madness, folly You shall not chase my gloom away! There 's such a charm in melancholy I would not if I could be gay.
Samuel Rogers