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Gratitude: Quotations from Cyclopedia of Practical Quotations
Stately and tall he moves in the hall, The chief of a thousand for grace.— KATE FRANKLIN — Life at Olympus. Godey's Lady's Book. Vol. XXIII.
P. 33. And grace that won who saw to wish her stay.— MILTON — Paradise Lost. Bk. VIII. L. 43.
From vulgar bounds with brave disorder part, And snatch a grace beyond the reach of art.— POPE — Essay on Criticism. L. 152.
For several virtues Have I lik'd several women; never any With so full soul, but some defect in her Did quarrel with the noblest grace she ow'd, And put it to the foil.— Shakespeare — Tempest. Act III. Sc. 1. L. 42.
God give him grace to groan!— Shakespeare — Love's Labour's Lost. Act IV. Sc. 3. L. 21.
Hail to thee, lady! and the grace of heaven, Before, behind thee and on every hand, Enwheel thee round!— Shakespeare — Othello. Act II. Sc. 1. L. 85.
He does it with a better grace, but I do it more natural.— Shakespeare — Twelfth Night. Act II. Sc. 3. L. 88.
0, then, what graces in my love do dwell, That he hath turn'd a heaven unto a hell! १. Midsummer-Night's Dream. Act I. Sc. 1. L. 206. But the tender grace of a day that is dead Will never come back to me.— TENNYSON — Break, Break, Break.
Gratitude is the fairest blossom which springs from the soul; and the heart of man knoweth none more fragrant.— S. HOSEA BALLOU — MS. Sermons.
Gratitude is expensive.— GIBBON — Decline and Fall of the Roman
Empire. The still small voice of gratitude.— GRAY — For Music. St. 5.
A grateful mind By owing owes not, but still pays, at once Indebted and discharg'd.— MILTON — Paradise Lost. Bk. IV. L. 55.
Th' unwilling gratitude of base mankind!— POPE — Second Book of Horace. Ep. I.
Ep. Ep. I. L. 14. Let but the commons hear this testament- • Which, pardon me, I do not mean to read- And they would go and kiss dead Cæsar's wounds And dip their napkins in his sacred blood, Yea, beg a hair of him for memory, And, dying, mention it within their wills, Bequeathing it as a rich legacy Unto their issue. Julius Cæsar. Act III. Sc. 2. L. 135. Now the good gods forbid That our renowned Rome, whose gratitude Towards her deserved children is enroll'd In Jove's own book, like an unnatural dam Should now eat up her own!— Shakespeare — Coriolanus. Act III. Sc. 1. L. 290.
I've heard of hearts unkind, kind deeds With coldness still returning; Alas! the gratitude of men Hath often left me mourning. C.— WORDSWORTH — Simon Lee.
GRAVE (THE). Mine be the breezy hill that skirts the down; Where a green grassy turf is all I crave, With here and there a violet bestrown, Fast by a brook or fountain's murmuring wave; And many an evening sun shine sweetly on my grave!— BEATTIE — The Minstrel. Bk. II. St. 17.
Lie lightly on my ashes, gentle earth!— BEAUMONT AND FLETCHER — Bonduca. Act IV. Sc. 3.
The grave, dread thing! Men shiver when thou'rt named: Nature appalled, Shakes off her wonted firmness.— BLAIR — The Grave.
The grave is Heaven's golden gate, And rich and poor around it wait; O Shepherdess of England's fold, Behold this gate of pearl and gold!— WM. BLAKE — Dedication of the Designs
to Blair's "Grave." To Queen To Queen Charlotte. Build me a shrine, and I could kneel To rural Gods, or prostrate fall; Did I not see, did I not feel. That one GREAT SPIRIT governs all. O Heaven, permit that I may lie Where o'er my corse green branches wave; And those who from life's tumults fly With kindred feelings press my grave.— BLOOMFIELD — Love of the Country. St. 4.
GRAVE (THE). Gra Gravestones tell truth scarce forty years.— SIR THOMAS BROWNE — Hydriotaphia. Ch. V.
I gazed upon the glorious sky And the green mountains round, And thought that when I came to lie At rest within the ground, 'Twere pleasant that in flowery June When brooks send up a cheerful tune, And groves a joyous sound, The sexton's hand, my grave to make, The rich, green mountain turf should break.— BRYANT — June.
I would rather sleep in the southern corner of a little country churchyard, than in the tombs of the Capulets.— BURKE — Letter to Matthew Smith.
Of all The fools who flock'd to swell or see the show, Who car'd about the corpse? The funeral Made the attraction, and the black the woe; There throbb'd not there a thought which pierc'd the pall.— BYRON — Vision of Judgment. St. 10.
Perhaps the early grave Which men weep over may be meant to save.— BYRON — Don Juan. Canto IV. St. 12.
What's hallow'd ground? Has earth a clod Its Maker mean'd not should be trod By man, the image of his God, Erect and free, Unscourged by Superstition's rod To bow the knee.— CAMPBELL — Hallowed Ground.
But an untimely grave.— CAREW — On the Duke of Buckingham.
The grave, where sets the orb of being, sets To rise, ascend, and culminate above Eternity's horizon evermore.— ABRAHAM COLES — The Microcosm and
Other Poems. P. 125. In yonder grave a Druid lies.— COLLINS — Ode on the Death of Thomson.
The solitary, silent, solemn scene, Where Cæsars, heroes, peasants, hermits lie, Blended in dust together; where the slave Rests from his labors; where th' insulting proud Resigns his powers; the miser drops his hoard: Where human folly sleeps.— DYER — Ruins of Rome. L. 540.
Some mute inglorious Milton here may rest, Some Cromwell guiltless of his country's blood. S.— GRAY — Elegy in a Country Churchyard. St. 15.
GRAVE (THE). Such graves as his are pilgrim shrines, Shrines to no code or creed confined,-- The Delphian vales, the Palestines, The Meccas of the mind.— FITZ — GREENE HALLECK-Burns. St. 32.
Graves they say are warm'd by glory; Foolish words and empty story.— HEINE — Latest Poems. Epilogue. L. 1.
Where shall we make her grave? Oh! where the wild flowers wave In the free air! When shower and singing-bird 'Midst the young leaves are heard, There-lay her there! C.— MRS. HEMANS — Dirge. Where Shall
we Make her Grave? Then to the grave I turned me to see what therein lay; 'Twas the garment of the Christian, worn out and thrown away.— KRUMMACHER — Death and the Christian.
I see their scattered gravestones gleaming white Through the pale dusk of the impending night. O'er all alike the imperial sunset throws Its golden lilies mingled with the rose; We give to each a tender thought and pass Out of the graveyards with their tangled grass.— LONGFELLOW — Morituri Salutamus. L. 120.
This is the field and Acre of our God, This is the place where human harvests grow!— LONGFELLOW — God's Acre.
There are slave-drivers quietly whipped underground, There bookbinders, done up in boards, are fast bound, There card-players wait till the last trump be played, There all the choice spirits get finally laid, There the babe that's unborn is supplied with a berth, There men without legs get their six feet of earth, There lawyers repose, each wrapped up in his case, There seekers of office are sure of a place, There defendant and plaintiff get equally cast, There shoemakers quietly stick to the last.— LOWELL — Fables for Critics. L. 1,656.
And so sepulchred in such pomp dost lie; That kings for such a tomb would wish to die.— MILTON — Epitaph on Shakespeare.
GRAVE (THE). There is a calm for those who weep, A rest for weary pilgrims found, They softly lie and sweetly sleep Low in the ground.— MONTGOMERY — The Grave.
I stood beside the grave, and I gazed upon the stone: And the name of Robert Burns was engraven thereupon.— ROBERT NICOLL — The Grave of Burns.
The grave unites; where e'en the great find rest, And blended lie th' oppressor and th' oppressed!— POPE — Windsor Forest. L. 317.
Yet shall thy grave with rising flow'rs be dressed, And the green turf lie lightly on thy breast; There shall the morn her earliest tears bestow, There the first roses of the year shall blow.— POPE — Elegy on an Unfortunate Lady. L. 65.
Never the grave gives back what it has won!— SCHILLER — A Funeral Fantasy.
Last line. To that dark inn, the Grave!— SCOTT — The Lord of the Isles. VI. L. 26.
Bear from hence his body; And mourn you for him: let him be regarded As the most noble corse that ever herald Did follow to his urn.— Shakespeare — Coriolanus. Act V. Sc. 6. L. 143.
Gilded tombs do worms infold.— Shakespeare — Merchant of Venice. Act II. Sc. 7. L. 69.
Lay her i' the earth; And from her fair and unpolluted flesh May violets spring!— Shakespeare — Hamlet. Act V. Sc. 1. L. 261.
Let's choose executors and talk of wills: And yet not so, for what can we bequeath Save our deposed bodies to the ground?— Shakespeare — Richard II. Act III. Sc. 2. L. 148.
Taking the measure of an unmade grave.— Shakespeare — S. Romeo and Juliet. Act III. Sc. 3. L. 70.
The sepulchre, Wherein we saw thee quietly inurn'd, Hath op'd his ponderous and marble jaws.— Shakespeare — Hamlet. Act I. Sc. 4. L. 48.
They bore him barefac'd on the bier; And in his grave rain'd many a tear. น. Hamlet. Act IV. Sc. 5. L. 164. GRAVE (THE). Within their chiefest temple I'll erect A tomb, wherein his corpse shall be interr'd.— Shakespeare — Henry VI. Pt. I. Act II. Sc. 2. L. 12.
O heart, and mind, and thoughts! what thing do you Hope to inherit in the grave below?— SHELLEY — Sonnet. Ye Hasten to the
Dead! The lone couch of his everlasting sleep.— SHELLEY — Alastor. L. 57.
Kings have no such couch as thine, As the green that folds thy grave.— TENNYSON — A Dirge. St. 6.
Our father's dust is left alone And silent under other snows.— TENNYSON — In Memoriam. Pt. CV.
Hark! from the tombs a doleful sound.— WATTS — Hymns and Spiritual Songs. Funeral Thoughts. Bk. II. Vol. IX. Hymn 63.
Ah, the grave's a quiet bed: She shall sleep a pleasant sleep, And the tears that you may shed Will not wake her therefore weep!— WM. WINTER — The Last Scene. St. 2.
But the grandsire's chair is empty, The cottage is dark and still; There's a nameless grave on the battle-field, And a new one under the hill.— WM. WINTER — After All.
Gratus animus est una virtus non solum maxima, sed etiam mater virtutum omnium reliquarum. A thankful heart is not only the greatest virtue, but the parent of all the other virtues.— CICERO — Oratio Pro Cnxo Plancio.
La reconnaissance est la mémoire du cœur. Gratitude is the memory of the heart. t. MASSIEU to the ABBÉ SICARD. L'ingratitude attire les reproches comme 18 reconnaissance attire de nouveaux bienfaits. Ingratitude calls forth reproaches as grati tude brings renewed kindnesses.— MME. DE SÉVIGNÉ — Lettres.