Quotes
Quotes about Gold
All is not gold that glisteneth.
Whilst that for which all virtue now is sold,
And almost every vice,--almighty gold.
To add to golden numbers golden numbers.
And this is that Homer's golden chain, which reacheth down from heaven to earth, by which every creature is annexed, and depends on his Creator.
Mammon, the least erected spirit that fell
From heaven; for ev'n in heaven his looks and thoughts
Were always downward bent, admiring more
The riches of heaven's pavement, trodden gold,
Than aught divine or holy else enjoy'd
In vision beatific.
High on a throne of royal state, which far
Outshone the wealth of Ormus and of Ind,
Or where the gorgeous East with richest hand
Showers on her kings barbaric pearl and gold,
Satan exalted sat, by merit rais'd
To that bad eminence.
And fast by, hanging in a golden chain,
This pendent world, in bigness as a star
Of smallest magnitude, close by the moon.
See golden days, fruitful of golden deeds,
With joy and love triumphing.
Heaven open'd wide
Her ever during gates, harmonious sound,
On golden hinges moving.
Hither, as to their fountain, other stars
Repairing, in their golden urns draw light.
A broad and ample road, whose dust is gold,
And pavement stars,--as stars to thee appear
Seen in the galaxy, that milky way
Which nightly as a circling zone thou seest
Powder'd with stars.
That golden key
That opes the palace of eternity.
O welcome, pure-ey'd Faith, white-handed Hope,
Thou hovering angel, girt with golden wings!
The leaf was darkish, and had prickles on it,
But in another country, as he said,
Bore a bright golden flow'r, but not in this soil;
Unknown, and like esteem'd, and the dull swain
Treads on it daily with his clouted shoon.
The pilot of the Galilean lake;
Two massy keys he bore, of metals twain
(The golden opes, the iron shuts amain).
Time will run back and fetch the age of gold.
Though with those streams he no resemblance hold,
Whose foam is amber and their gravel gold;
His genuine and less guilty wealth t' explore,
Search not his bottom, but survey his shore.
Orange bright,
Like golden lamps in a green night.
Behold the child, by Nature's kindly law,
Pleased with a rattle, tickled with a straw;
Some livelier plaything gives his youth delight,
A little louder, but as empty quite;
Scarfs, garters, gold, amuse his riper stage,
And beads and prayer-books are the toys of age.
Pleased with this bauble still, as that before,
Till tired he sleeps, and life's poor play is o'er.
Poetic Justice, with her lifted scale,
Where in nice balance truth with gold she weighs,
And solid pudding against empty praise.
Life is not to be bought with heaps of gold:
Not all Apollo's Pythian treasures hold,
Or Troy once held, in peace and pride of sway,
Can bribe the poor possession of a day.
Jove lifts the golden balances that show
The fates of mortal men, and things below.
Who love too much, hate in the like extreme,
And both the golden mean alike condemn.
Note 41.The canvas glow'd beyond ev'n Nature warm;
The pregnant quarry teem'd with human form.
Oliver Goldsmith: The Traveller, line 137.
Goldsmith, however, was a man who whatever he wrote, did it better than any other man could do.
