Quotes
Quotes about Pen
Art thou there, truepenny?
Come on--you hear this fellow in the cellarage.
And let me wring your heart; for so I shall,
If it be made of penetrable stuff.
Confess yourself to heaven;
Repent what's past; avoid what is to come.
How sharper than a serpent's tooth it is
To have a thankless child!
One that excels the quirks of blazoning pens.
King Stephen was a worthy peer,
His breeches cost him but a crown;
He held them sixpence all too dear,--
With that he called the tailor lown.
Put out the light, and then put out the light:
If I quench thee, thou flaming minister,
I can again thy former light restore
Should I repent me; but once put out thy light,
Thou cunning'st pattern of excelling nature,
I know not where is that Promethean heat
That can thy light relume.
Where's my serpent of old Nile?
Epicurean cooks
Sharpen with cloyless sauce his appetite.
Sometime we see a cloud that's dragonish;
A vapour sometime like a bear or lion,
A tower'd citadel, a pendent rock,
A forked mountain, or blue promontory
With trees upon 't.
Your monument shall be my gentle verse,
Which eyes not yet created shall o'er-read,
And tongues to be your being shall rehearse
When all the breathers of this world are dead;
You still shall live--such virtue hath my pen--
Where breath most breathes, even in the mouths of men.
Ay, but to die, and go we know not where;
To lie in cold obstruction and to rot;
This sensible warm motion to become
A kneaded clod; and the delighted spirit
To bathe in fiery floods, or to reside
In thrilling region of thick-ribbed ice;
To be imprison'd in the viewless winds,
And blown with restless violence round about
The pendent world.
The weariest and most loathed worldly life
That age, ache, penury, and imprisonment
Can lay on nature, is a paradise
To what we fear of death.
Devise, wit; write, pen; for I am for whole volumes in folio.
A merrier man,
Within the limit of becoming mirth,
I never spent an hour's talk withal.
By my penny of observation.
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!
What! wouldst thou have a serpent sting thee twice?
Soul of the age,
The applause, delight, the wonder of our stage,
My Shakespeare, rise! I will not lodge thee by
Chaucer or Spenser, or bid Beaumont lie
A little further, to make thee a room.
Three merry boys, and three merry boys,
And three merry boys are we,
As ever did sing in a hempen string
Under the gallows-tree.
Penny wise, pound foolish.
Idleness is an appendix to nobility.
Hinc quam sic calamus sævior ense, patet. The pen worse than the sword.
Many things happen between the cup and the lip.
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.
