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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.
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
Foundation
Perishing
Raised
Frailty
Materials
Frail
Lasts
Imaginary
Happiness
Laid
Last
Sand
Care
Treasure
Find
Structure
More quotes by Samuel Rogers
I lived to write, and wrote to live.
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Then never less alone than when alone.
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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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Gentle to others, to himself severe.
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When a new book is published, read an old one.
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Women have the understanding of the heart, which is better than that of the head.
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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 man who attempts to read all the new productions must do as the flea does,--skip.
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It doesn't much signify whom one marries, for one is sure to find next morning that it was someone else.
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Every day a little life, a blank to be inscribed with gentle thoughts.
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Think nothing done while aught remains to do.
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By many a temple half as old as Time.
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Example is a motive of very prevailing force on the actions of men.
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A guardian angel o'er his life presiding, Doubling his pleasures, and his cares dividing.
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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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To vanish in the chinks that Time has made.
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The soul of music slumbers in the shell Till waked and kindled by the master's spell And feeling hearts, touch them but rightly, pour A thousand melodies unheard before!
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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.
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Twilight's soft dews steal o'er the village-green, With magic tints to harmonize the scene. Stilled is the hum that through the hamlet broke When round the ruins of their ancient oak The peasants flocked to hear the minstrel play, And games and carols closed the busy day.
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Long on the wave reflected lustres of play.
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