Quotes from Robert Blair

Its visits, like those of angels, short, and far between.

But if there be an hereafter,And that there is, conscience, uninfluenc'dAnd suffer'd to speak out, tells every man,Then must it be an awful thing to die;More horrid yet to die by one's own hand.

The grave, dread thing! Men shiver when thou'rt named: Nature appalled, Shakes off her wonted firmness.

Friendship! Mysterious cement of the soul, Sweet'ner of life, and solder of society.

Action, so to speak, is the genius of nature.

How blunt are all the arrows of thy quiver in comparison with those of guilt.

When it draws near to witching time of night.

Our time is fixed, and all our days are number'd; How long, how short, we know not:—this we know, Duty requires we calmly wait the summons, Nor dare to stir till Heaven shall give permission.

Of joys departed, not to return, how painful the remembrance.

Throughout the whole vegetable, sensible, and rational world, whatever makes progress towards maturity, as soon as it has passed that point, begins to verge towards decay.

Affectation is certain deformity; by forming themselves on fantastic models, the young begin with being ridiculous, and often end in being vicious.

Whistling aloud to bear his courage up.

Friendship! Mysterious cement of the soul, Sweet'ner of life, and solder of society.