Joanna Baillie

Joanna
Baillie
1762
1851

Scottish Poet and Dramatist

Author Quotes

He is so full of pleasant anecdote; so rich, so gay, so poignant in his wit, time vanishes before him as he speaks, and ruddy morning through the lattice peeps ere night seems well begun.

Oh swiftly glides the bonnie boat, Just parted from the shore, And to the fisher's chorus-note Soft moves the dipping oar.

Tis ever thus when favours are denied; all had been granted but the thing we beg: and still some great unlikely substitute?Your life, your soul, your all of earthly good?Is proffer?d, in the room of one small boon.

He that will not give some portion of his ease, his blood, his wealth, for other's good, is a poor, frozen churl.

Some men are born to feast, and not to fight; whose sluggish minds, e?en in fair honor?s field, still on their dinner turn?Let such pot-boiling varlets stay at home, and wield a flesh-hook rather than a sword.

Tis ever thus: indulgence spoils the base; raising up pride, and lawless turbulence, like noxious vapors from the fulsome marsh when morning shines upon it.

Heaven oft in mercy smites, even when the blow severest is.

Stand there, damn?d meddling villain, and be silent; for if thou utt?rest but a single word, a cough or hem, to cross me in my speech, I?ll send thy cursed spirit from the earth, to bellow with the damn?d!

To make the cunning artless, tame the rude, subdue the haughty, shake the undaunted soul; yea, put a bridle in the lion?s mouth, and lead him forth as a domestic cur, these are the triumphs of all-powerful beauty.

Heaven often smites in mercy, even when the blow is severest.

Still on it creeps, Each little moment at another's heels, Till hours, days, years, and ages are made up of such small parts as these, and men look back worn and bewilder'd, wondering how it is.

To struggle when hope is banished! To live when life's salt is gone! To dwell in a dream that's vanished! To endure, and go calmly on! The brave man is not he who feels no fear, For that were stupid and irrational; But he, whose noble soul its fear subdues, And bravely dares the danger nature shrinks from.

I am as one who doth attempt some lofty mountain?s height, and having gained what to the upcast eye the summit?s point appear?d, astonish?d sees its cloudy top, majestic and enlarged, towering aloft, as distant as before.

Sweet sleep be with us, one and all! And if upon its stillness fall the visions of a busy brain, we?ll have our pleasure o?er again, to warm the heart, to charm the sight. Gay dreams to all! good night, good night.

Twice it call?d, so loudly call?d, with horrid strength, beyond the pitch of nature; and murder! murder! was the dreadful cry. A third time it return?d with feeble strength, but o? the sudden ceas?d, as though the words were smother?d rudely in the grappl?d throat, and all was still again, save the wild blast which at a distance growl?d?Oh! it will never from my mind depart! That dreadful cry, all i? the instant still?d.

I believe the earth on which we stand is but the vestibule to glorious mansions, to which a moving crowd is forever pressing.

That looked as though an angel, in his upward flight, had left his mantle floating in mid-air.

War is honorable in those who do their native rights maintain; in those whose swords an iron barrier are between the lawless spoiler and the weak; but is, in those who draw th? offensive blade for added power or gain, sordid and despicable as meanest office of the worldly churl.

I can bear scorpion?s stings, tread fields of fire, in frozen gulfs of cold eternal lie, be tossed aloft through tracts of endless void, but cannot live in shame.

The bliss e'en of a moment still is bliss.

Who will not give some portion of his ease, his blood, his wealth, for others' good, is a poor, frozen churl.

I have seen the day, when, if a man made himself ridiculous, the world would laugh at him. But now, everything that is mean, disgusting, and absurd, pleases them but so much the better!

The hushed winds wail with feeble moan like infant charity.

Woman?s grief is like a summer storm, short as it is violent.

I wish I were with some of the wild people that run in the woods, and know nothing about accomplishments!

Author Picture
First Name
Joanna
Last Name
Baillie
Birth Date
1762
Death Date
1851
Bio

Scottish Poet and Dramatist