Page 412. John Bartlett, comp. 1919. Familiar Quotations, 10th ed.

Reference > Quotations > John Bartlett, comp. > Familiar Quotations, 10th ed. > Page 412

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John Bartlett (1820–1905). Familiar Quotations, 10th ed. 1919.

Page 412

Edmund Burke. (1729–1797) (continued)

4437

I would rather sleep in the southern corner of a little country churchyard than in the tomb of the Capulets. 1

Letter to Matthew Smith.

4438

It has all the contortions of the sibyl without the inspiration. 2

Prior’s Life of Burke. 3

4439

He was not merely a chip of the old block, but the old block itself. 4

On Pitt’s First Speech, Feb. 26, 1781. From Wraxall’s Memoirs, First Series, vol. i. p. 342.

Charles Churchill. (1731–1764)

4440

He mouths a sentence as curs mouth a bone.

The Rosciad. Line 322.

4441

But, spite of all the criticising elves,
Those who would make us feel—must feel themselves. 5

The Rosciad. Line 961.

4442

Who to patch up his fame, or fill his purse,
Still pilfers wretched plans, and makes them worse;

Note 1.
Family vault of “all the Capulets.”—Reflections on the Revolution in France, vol. iii. p. 349. [back]

Note 2.
When Croft’s “Life of Dr. Young” was spoken of as a good imitation of Dr. Johnson’s style, “No, no,” said he, “it is not a good imitation of Johnson; it has all his pomp without his force; it has all the nodosities of the oak, without its strength; it has all the contortions of the sibyl, without the inspiration.”—Prior: Life of Burke.

The gloomy comparisons of a disturbed imagination, the melancholy madness of poetry without the inspiration.—Junius: Letter No. viii. To Sir W. Draper. [back]

Note 3.
At the conclusion of one of Mr. Burke’s eloquent harangues, Mr. Cruger, finding nothing to add, or perhaps as he thought to add with effect, exclaimed earnestly, in the language of the counting-house, “I say ditto to Mr. Burke! I say ditto to Mr. Burke!”—Prior: Life of Burke, p. 152. [back]

Note 4.
See Sir Thomas Browne, Quotation 12. [back]

Note 5.
Si vis me flere, dolendum est
Primum ipsi tibi
(If you wish me to weep, you yourself must first feel grief).
Horace: Ars Poetica, v. 102. [back]

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