Oliver Goldsmith
Oliver Goldsmith
Oliver Goldsmithwas an Irish novelist, playwright and poet, who is best known for his novel The Vicar of Wakefield, his pastoral poem The Deserted Village, and his plays The Good-Natur'd Manand She Stoops to Conquer. He is thought to have written the classic children's tale The History of Little Goody Two-Shoes...
NationalityIrish
ProfessionPoet
Date of Birth10 November 1730
CountryIreland
men population opinion
I was ever of the opinion, that the honest man who married and brought up a large family, did more service than he who continued single, and only talked of population.
life looks virgins
The bashful virgin's sidelong looks of love.
life form quarry
The pregnant quarry teem'd with human form.
life life-is
All the bloomy flush of life is fled.
hope heart expectations
The wretch condemn'd with life to part, Still, still on hope relies; And every pang that rends the heart Bids expectation rise.
hope grief humble
In all my wanderings round this world of care, In all my griefs-and God has given my share- I still had hopes my latest hours to crown, Amidst these humble bowers to lay me down.
hope future views
The hours we pass with happy prospects in view are more pleasing than those crowded with fruition.
time towns faster
In my time, the follies of the town crept slowly among us, but now they travel faster than a stagecoach.
funny witty lying
Ask me no questions, and I'll tell you no lies.
may poverty world
The nakedness of the indigent world may be clothed from the trimmings of the vain.
woe poverty firsts
Thou source of all my bliss and all my woe, That found'st me poor at first, and keep'st me so.
weed cities house
What cities, as great as this, have . . . promised themselves immortality! Posterity can hardly trace the situation of some. The sorrowful traveller wanders over the awful ruins of others. . . . Here stood their citadel, but now grown over with weeds; there their senate-house, but now the haunt of every noxious reptile; temples and theatres stood here, now only an undistinguished heap of ruins.
sorrow done fields
Wept o'er his wounds, or tales of sorrow done, Shoulder'd his crutch, and shew'd how fields were won.
circles voice squares
As ten millions of circles can never make a square, so the united voice of myriads cannot lend the smallest foundation to falsehood.