33 Quotes by Robert Blair

Of joys departed, not to return, how painful the remembrance.

The good he scorn’d Stalk’d off reluctant, like an ill-us’d ghost, Not to return; or if it did, its visits Like those of angels, short, and far between.

The common damn’d shun their society.

The tap’ring pyramid, the Egyptian’s pride, And wonder of the world, whose spiky top Has wounded the thick cloud.

Beauty! thou pretty plaything! dear deceit, That steals so softly o’er the stripling’s heart, And gives it a new pulse unknown before!

The best-concerted schemes men lay for fame, Die fast away: only themselves die faster. The far-fam’d sculptor, and the laurell’d bard, Those bold insurancers of deathless fame, Supply their little feeble aids in vain.