Charles Churchill Quotes - Page 3

Who shall dispute what the Reviewers say? Their word's sufficient; and to ask a reason, In such a state as theirs, is downright treason.

With that malignant envy which turns pale, And sickens, even if a friend prevail.

When satire flies abroad on falsehood's wing, Short is her life, and impotent her sting; But when to truth allied, the wound she gives Sinks deep, and to remotest ages lives.

Genius is nothing more than inflamed enthusiasm.

What it 't to us, if taxes rise or fall, Thanks to our fortune, we pay none at all. Let muckworms who in dirty acres deal, Lament those hardships which we cannot feel, His grace who smarts, may bellow if he please, But must I bellow too, who sit at ease? By custom safe, the poets' numbers flow, Free as the light and air some years ago. No statesman e'er will find it worth his pains To tax our labours, and excise our brains. Burthens like these with earthly buildings bear, No tributes laid on castles in the air.

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.

Be England what she will, With all her faults she is my country still.

Great use they have, when in the hands Of one like me, who understands, Who understands the time and place, The person, manner, and the grace, Which fools neglect; so that we find, If all the requisites are join'd, From whence a perfect joke must spring, A joke's a very serious thing.

Genius is of no country; her pure ray Spreads all abroad, as general as the day.

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

Greatly his foes he dreads, but more his friends; He hurts me most who lavishly commends.

Nor waste their sweetness in the desert air.

He hurts me most who lavishly commends.

Men the most infamous are fond of fame, And those who fear not guilt yet start at shame.

No tribute is laid on castles in the air.

Genius is independent of situation.

With various readings stored his empty skull, Learn'd without sense, and venerably dull.

Patience is sorrow's salve.

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

The best things carried to excess are wrong.

The danger chiefly lies in acting well; no crime's so great as daring to excel.

Though folly, robed in purple, shines, Though vice exhausts Peruvian mines, Yet shall they tremble and turn pale When satire wields her mighty flail.

Who all in raptures their own works rehearse, And drawl out measur'd prose, which they call verse.

Amongst the sons of men how few are known Who dare be just to merit not their own.

The more haste, ever the worst speed.