Quotes
Quotes about Wit
Where village statesmen talk'd with looks profound. And news much older than their ale went round.
Prithee, friend, Pour out the pack of matter to mine ear, The good and the bad together: he's friends with Caesar, In state of health, thou say'st, and thou say'st, free.
(Celia:) Here come Monsieur Le Beau. (Rosalind:) With his mouth full of news. (Celia:) Which he will put on us as pigeons feed their young. (Rosalind:) Then shall we be news-crammed.
People everywhere confuse what they read in newspapers with news.
Night comes, world-jewelled, . . . The stars rush forth in myriads as to wage War with the lines of Darkness; and the moon, Pale ghost of Night, comes haunting the cold earth After the sun's red sea-death--quietless.
When it draws near to witching time of night.
The night has a thousand eyes, And the day but one; Yet the light of the bright world dies With the dying sun. The mind has a thousand eyes, And the heart but one: Yet the light of a whole life dies When love is done.
The stars are forth, the moon above the tops Of the snow-shining mountains--Beautiful! I linger yet with Nature, for the night Hath been to me a more familiar face Than that of man; and in her starry shade Of dim and solitary loveliness I learn'd the language of another world.
A late lark twitters from the quiet skies: And from the west, Where the sun, his day's work ended, Lingers as in content, There falls on the old, gray city An influence luminous and serene, A shining peace.
The smoke ascends In a rosy-and-golden haze. The spires Shine and are changed. In the valley Shadows rise. The lark sings on. The sun Closing his benediction, Sinks, and the darkening air Thrills with the sense of the triumphing night,-- Night with train of stars And her great gift of sleep.
At night, to his own dark fancies a prey, He lies like a hedgehog rolled up the wrong way, Tormenting himself with his prickles.
'Tis the witching hour of night, Orbed is the moon and bright, And the stars they glisten, glisten, Seeming with bright eyes to listen- For what listen they?
And the night shall be filled with music And the cares, that infest the day, Shall fold their tents, like the Arabs, And as silently steal away.
The night walked down the sky with the moon in her hand.
'Tis the merry nightingale That crowds, and hurries, and precipitates With fast thick warble his delicious notes, As he were fearful that an April night Would be too short for him to utter forth His love-chant, and disburthen his full soul Of all its music!
Sweet bird, that sing'st away the early hours, Of winter's past or coming void of care, Well pleased with delights which present are, Fair seasons, budding sprays, sweet-smelling flowers.
Soft as Memnon's harp at morning, To the inward ear devout, Touched by light, with heavenly warning Your transporting chords ring out. Every leaf in every nook, Every wave in every brook, Chanting with a solemn voice Minds us of our better choice.
O nightingale, that on yon bloomy spray Warblest at eve, when all the woods are still; Thou with fresh hope the lover's heart dost fill While the jolly hours lead on propitious May.
I said to the Nightingale: "Hail, all hail! Pierce with thy trill the dark, Like a glittering music-spark, When the earth grows pale and dumb."
Yon nightingale, whose strain so sweetly flows, Mourning her ravish'd young or much-loved mate, A soothing charm o'er all the valleys throws And skies, with notes well tuned to her and state.
He killed the noble Mudjokivis. Of the skin he made him mittens, Made them with the fur side inside, Made them with the skin side outside. He, to get the warm side inside, Put the inside skin side outside; He, to get the cold side outside, Put the warm side fur side inside. That's why he put the fur side inside, Why he put the skin side outside, Why he turned them inside outside.
For blocks are better cleft with wedges, Tan tools of sharp or subtle edges, And dullest nonsense has been found By some to be the most profound.
To vanish nonsense with the charms of sound.
Mingle a little folly with your wisdom; a little nonsense now and then is pleasant. [Lat., Misce stultitiam consiliis brevem: Dulce est desipere in loco.]
When Bryan O'Lynn had no shirt to put on, He took him a sheep skin to make him a' one. "With the skinny side out, and the wooly side in, 'Twill be warm and convanient," said Bryan O'Lynn.
