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Quotes by Thomas Parnell
Johnson, 1777. We call it only pretty Fanny's way. S.— filed under Martyrdom
Let those love now who never lov'd before, Let those who always loved now love the more.— filed under Love
Death's but a path that must be trod, If man would ever pass to God.— filed under Death
Pity the sorrows of a poor old man, Whose trembling limbs have brought him to your door. THOS. Moss-The Beggar. At length some pity warm'd the master's breast ('Twas then, his threshold first receiv'd a guest), Slow creaking turns the door with jealous care, And half he welcomes in the shivering pair.— filed under Pity
Far in a wild, unknown to public view, From youth to age a reverend hermit grew; The moss his bed, the cave his humble cell, His food the fruits, his drink the crystal well, Remote from man, with God he pass'd the days; Prayer all his business, all his pleasure praise.— filed under Solitude
Let time that makes you homely, make you sage.— filed under Time
Still an angel appear to each lover beside, But still be a woman to you.— filed under Woman