Quote #67
Her modest looks the cottage might adorn, Sweet as the primrose peeps beneath the thorn.
More from Oliver Goldsmith
- And, ev'n while fashion's brightest arts decoy, The heart distrusting asks, if this be joy.
- Thou source of all my bliss, and all my woe, That found'st me poor at first, and keep'st me so.
- To me more dear, congenial to my heart, One native charm, than all the gloss of art.
- In my time, the follies of the town crept slowly among us, but now they travel faster than a stagecoach.
- The whitewashed wall, the nicely sanded floor, The varnished clock that clicked behind the door; The chest contrived a double debt to pay, …
- I love everything that's old: old friends, old times, old manners, old books, old wines.
- Where village statesmen talked with looks profound, And news much older than their ale went round.
- The very pink of perfection.