Oliver Goldsmith

The bashful virgin's sidelong looks of love, The matron's glance that would those looks reprove.

The hawthorn bush, with seats beneath the shade, For talking age and whispering lovers made.

Sweet Auburn! loveliest village of the plain.

Certainly, in two opposite opinions, if one be perfectly reasonable, the other can't be perfectly right.

Measures, not men, have always been my mark.

Silence gives consent.

Don't let us make imaginary evils, when you know we have so many real ones to encounter.

Friendship is a disinterested commerce between equals; love, an abject intercourse between tyrants and slaves.

All his faults are such that one loves him still the better for them.

He calls his extravagance, generosity; and his trusting everybody, universal benevolence.

This same philosophy is a good horse in the stable, but an arrant jade on a journey.

The only art her guilt to cover, To hide her shame from every eye, To give repentance to her lover, And wring his bosom——is to die.

When lovely woman stoops to folly, And finds too late that men betray, What charm can soothe her melancholy, What art can wash her guilt away?

To what fortuitous occurrence do we not owe every pleasure and convenience of our lives.

To what happy accident is it that we owe so unexpected a visit?

The man recovered of the bite, The dog it was that died.

The dog, to gain some private ends, Went mad, and bit the man.

And in that town a dog was found, As many dogs there be, Both mongrel, puppy, whelp, and hound, And curs of low degree.

A kind and gentle heart he had, To comfort friends and foes; The naked every day he clad When he put on his clothes.

It seemed to be pretty plain, that they had more of love than matrimony in them.

Conscience is a coward, and those faults it has not strength enough to prevent it seldom has justice enough to accuse.

It has been a thousand times observed, and I must observe it once more, that the hours we pass with happy prospects in view are more pleasing than those crowned with fruition.

They would talk of nothing but high life, and high-lived company, with other fashionable topics, such as pictures, taste, Shakespeare, and the musical glasses.

By the living jingo, she was all of a muck of sweat.