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The press, the pulpit, and the stage, Conspire to censure and expose our age.
Wentworth Dillon, 4th Earl of Roscommon
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Wentworth Dillon, 4th Earl of Roscommon
Age: 48 †
Born: 1637
Born: January 1
Died: 1685
Died: January 18
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Conspire
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Presses
More quotes by Wentworth Dillon, 4th Earl of Roscommon
Tis I that call, remember Milo's end, Wedged in that timber which he strove to rend.
Wentworth Dillon, 4th Earl of Roscommon
Sound judgment is the ground of writing well.
Wentworth Dillon, 4th Earl of Roscommon
I will not quarrel with a slight mistake, Such as our nature's frailty may excuse.
Wentworth Dillon, 4th Earl of Roscommon
What you keep by you, you may change and mend but words, once spoken, can never be recalled.
Wentworth Dillon, 4th Earl of Roscommon
Those things which now seem frivolous and slight, Will be of serious consequence to you, When they have made you once ridiculous.
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Our heroes of the former days deserved and gained their never-fading bays.
Wentworth Dillon, 4th Earl of Roscommon
Words are like leaves some wither every year, and every year a younger race succeed.
Wentworth Dillon, 4th Earl of Roscommon
Let us not write at a loose rambling rate, in hope the world will wink at all our faults.
Wentworth Dillon, 4th Earl of Roscommon
The first great work (a task performed by few) Is that yourself may to yourself be true.
Wentworth Dillon, 4th Earl of Roscommon
Praise Him, each savage furious beast That on His stores do daily feast And you tame slaves, of the laborious plough, Your weary knees to your Creator bow.
Wentworth Dillon, 4th Earl of Roscommon
Words once spoken can never be recalled.
Wentworth Dillon, 4th Earl of Roscommon
Grief dejects and wrings the tortured soul.
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Whatsoever contradicts my sense, I hate to see, and never can believe.
Wentworth Dillon, 4th Earl of Roscommon
Truth and fiction are so aptly mixed that all seems uniform and of a piece.
Wentworth Dillon, 4th Earl of Roscommon
You gain your point if your industrious art can make unusual words easy.
Wentworth Dillon, 4th Earl of Roscommon
The last loud trumpet's wondrous sound, Shall thro' the rending tombs rebound, And wake the nations under ground.
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Immodest words admit of no defence, For want of decency is want of sense.
Wentworth Dillon, 4th Earl of Roscommon
Men still had faults, and men will have them still He that hath none, and lives as angels do, Must be an angel.
Wentworth Dillon, 4th Earl of Roscommon
Pride (of all others the most dang'rous fault) Proceeds from want of sense, or want of thought.
Wentworth Dillon, 4th Earl of Roscommon
Often try what weight you can support, And what your shoulders are too weak to bear.
Wentworth Dillon, 4th Earl of Roscommon