Quotes
Quotes about Name
The ornament of beauty is suspect,
A crow that flies in heaven's sweetest air.
Who may, in the ambush of my name, strike home.
Small have continual plodders ever won
Save base authority from others' books.
These earthly godfathers of heaven's lights
That give a name to every fixed star
Have no more profit of their shining nights
Than those that walk and wot not what they are.
The lunatic, the lover, and the poet
Are of imagination all compact:
One sees more devils than vast hell can hold,
That is, the madman: the lover, all as frantic,
Sees Helen's beauty in a brow of Egypt:
The poet's eye, in a fine frenzy rolling,
Doth glance from heaven to earth, from earth to heaven;
And as imagination bodies forth
The forms of things unknown, the poet's pen
Turns them to shapes, and gives to airy nothing
A local habitation and a name.
Such tricks hath strong imagination,
That if it would but apprehend some joy,
It comprehends some bringer of that joy;
Or in the night, imagining some fear,
How easy is a bush supposed a bear!
Thus ornament is but the guiled shore
To a most dangerous sea.
In things that a man would not be seen in himself, it is a point of cunning to borrow the name of the world; as to say, "The world says," or "There is a speech abroad."
For my name and memory, I leave it to men's charitable speeches, to foreign nations, and to the next ages.
Note 1.When the battle rages loud and long,
And the stormy winds do blow.
Thomas Campbell: Ye Mariners of England.
Though they [philosophers] write contemptu gloriæ, yet as Hieron observes, they will put their names to their books.
I name no parties.
Note 1.An untimely grave.--Tate and Brady: Psalm vii.
Note 1.See Bacon, Quotation 49.
For all a rhetorician's rules
Teach nothing but to name his tools.
Nick Machiavel had ne'er a trick,
Though he gave his name to our Old Nick.
What song the Sirens sang, or what name Achilles assumed when he hid himself among women.
The Pyramids themselves, doting with age, have forgotten the names of their founders.
I fled, and cry'd out, DEATH!
Hell trembled at the hideous name, and sigh'd
From all her caves, and back resounded, DEATH!
Satan; so call him now, his former name
Is heard no more in heaven.
A thousand fantasies
Begin to throng into my memory,
Of calling shapes, and beck'ning shadows dire,
And airy tongues that syllable men's names
On sands and shores and desert wildernesses.
It is for homely features to keep home,--
They had their name thence; coarse complexions
And cheeks of sorry grain will serve to ply
The sampler and to tease the huswife's wool.
What need a vermeil-tinctur'd lip for that,
Love-darting eyes, or tresses like the morn?
Throw hither all your quaint enamell'd eyes
That on the green turf suck the honied showers,
And purple all the ground with vernal flowers.
Bring the rathe primrose that forsaken dies,
The tufted crow-toe, and pale jessamine,
The white pink, and the pansy freakt with jet,
The glowing violet,
The musk-rose, and the well-attir'd woodbine,
With cowslips wan that hang the pensive head,
And every flower that sad embroidery wears.
What needs my Shakespeare for his honour'd bones,--
The labour of an age in piled stones?
Or that his hallow'd relics should be hid
Under a star-y-pointing pyramid?
Dear son of memory, great heir of fame,
What need'st thou such weak witness of thy name?
Her face is like the milky way i' the sky,--
A meeting of gentle lights without a name.
Charm'd with the foolish whistling of a name
The name of the slough was Despond.
