Quote #43
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.
More from Oliver Goldsmith
- 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 aw…
- This same philosophy is a good horse in the stable, but an arrant jade on a journey.
- The man recovered of the bite, The dog it was that died.
- He calls his extravagance, generosity; and his trusting everybody, universal benevolence.
- The dog, to gain some private ends, Went mad, and bit the man.
- All his faults are such that one loves him still the better for them.
- And in that town a dog was found, As many dogs there be, Both mongrel, puppy, whelp, and hound, And curs of low degree.
- Friendship is a disinterested commerce between equals; love, an abject intercourse between tyrants and slaves.