42 Charles Churchill Quotes
Charles Churchill serves sly, satirical jabs at fame and guilt, perfect for those who enjoy sharp humor.
Charles Churchill quotes
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He mouths a sentence as curs mouth a bone.
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But, spite of all the criticising elves, Those who would make us feel-must feel themselves.
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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.
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No statesman e'er will find it worth his pains To tax our labours and excise our brains.
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Apt alliteration's artful aid.
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There webs were spread of more than common size, And half-starved spiders prey'd on half-starved flies.
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With curious art the brain, too finely wrought, Preys on herself, and is destroyed by thought.
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Amongst the sons of men how few are known Who dare be just to merit not their own?
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Men the most infamous are fond of fame, And those who fear not guilt yet start at shame.
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Just to the windward of the law.
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As the law does think fit No butchers shall on juries sit.
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Within the brain's most secret cells A certain Lord Chief Justice dwells Of sovereign power, whom one and all With common voice, we Reason call.
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Be England what she will, With all her faults she is my country still.
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Wherever waves can roll, and winds can blow.
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Also attributed
To copy faults is want of sense.
England a fortune-telling host, As num'rous as the stars, could boast; Matrons, who toss the cup, and see The grounds of Fate in grounds of tea…
The Scots are poor, cries surly English pride; True is the charge, nor by themselves denied. Are they not then in strictest reason clear, Who wisely come to mend their fortunes here?
Nature listening stood, whilst Shakespeare play'd And wonder'd at the work herself had made.
A joke's a very serious thing.
A servile race Who, in mere want of fault, all merit place; Who blind obedience pay to ancient schools, Bigots to Greece, and slaves to musty rules.
Prudent dullness marked him for a mayor.
On the four aces doom'd to roll.
Truth! why shall every wretch of letters Dare to speak truth against his betters! Let ragged virtue stand aloof, Nor mutter accents of reproof; Let ragged wit a mute become, When wealth and power would have her dumb.
Though folly, robed in purple, shines, Though vice exhausts Peruvian mines, Yet shall they tremble and turn pale When satire wields her mighty flail.
Childhood, who like an April morn appears, Sunshine and rain, hopes clouded o'er with fears.
What is this world?--A term which men have got, To signify not one in ten knows what; A term, which with no more precision passes To point out herds of men than herds of asses; In common use no more it means, we find, Than many fools in same opinions joined.
Enough of self, that darling luscious theme, O'er which philosophers in raptures dream; Of which with seeming disregard they write Then prizing most when most they seem to slight.
Patience is sorrow's salve.
Gipsies, who every ill can cure, Except the ill of being poor Who charms 'gainst love and agues sell, Who can in hen-roost set a spell, Prepar'd by arts, to them best known To catch all feet except their own, Who, as to fortune, can unlock it, As easily as pick a pocket.
The stage I chose--a subject fair and free-- 'Tis yours--'tis mine--'tis public property. All common exhibitions open lie, For praise or censure, to the common eye. Hence are a thousand hackney writers fed; Hence monthly critics earn their daily bread. This is a general tax which all must pay, From those who scribble, down to those who play.
Ourselves are to ourselves the cause of ill.
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.
The rigid saint, by whom no mercy's shown To saints whose lives are better than his own.
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.
Fashion--a word which knaves and fools may use, Their knavery and folly to excuse.
The danger chiefly lies in acting well; no crime's so great as daring to excel.
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.
Statesman all over, in plots famous grown, He mouths a sentence, as curs mouth a bone.
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.
Man and wife, Coupled together for the sake of strife.
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.
Who often, but without success, have prayed for apt Alliteration's artful aid.