Charles Churchill Quotes

Nature listening stood, whilst Shakespeare play’d
And wonder’d at the work herself had made.

Keep up appearances; there lies the test. The world will give thee credit for the rest.

The proud will sooner lose than ask their way.

Childhood, who like an April morn appears,
Sunshine and rain, hopes clouded o’er with fears.

To copy beauty forfeits all pretense to fame; to copy faults is want of sense.

Fame is nothing but an empty name.

A joke’s a very serious thing.

Those who would make us feel, must feel themselves.

And reputation bleeds in ev’ry word.

The best things carried to excess are wrong.

To copy faults is want of sense.

Quick-circulating slanders mirth afford; and reputation bleeds in every word.

Genius is independent of situation.

There’s a strange something, which without a brain
Fools feel, and which e’en wise men can’t explain,
Planted in man, to bind him to that earth,
In dearest ties, from whence he drew his birth.

Little do such men know the toil, the pains, the daily, nightly racking of the brains, to range the thoughts, the matter to digest, to cull fit phrases, and reject the rest.

Weak is that throne, and in itself unsound,
Which takes not solid virtue for its ground.

Fashion–a word which knaves and fools may use, Their knavery and folly to excuse.

The rigid saint, by whom no mercy’s shown To saints whose lives are better than his own.

On the four aces doom’d to roll.

It can’t be Nature, for it is not sense.

Prudent dullness marked him for a mayor.

Who to patch up his fame, or fill his purse, Still pilfers wretched plans, and makes them worse; Like gypsies, lest the stolen brat be known, Defacing first, then claiming for his own.

Patience is sorrow’s salve.

Though by whim, envy, or resentment led, they damn those authors whom they never read.