Quotes from Joanna Baillie

The strength of man sinks in the hour of trial; but there doth live a Power that to the battle girdeth the weak.

The tyrant now Trusts not to men: nightly within his chamber The watch-dog guards his couch, the only friend He now dare trust.

Men's actions to futurity appear but as the events to which they are conjoined do give them consequence.

It is so seldom that a young fellow has any inclination for the company of an old man. . .

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.

A good man's prayers will from the deepest dungeon climb heaven's height, and bring a blessing down.

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.

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 tyrant now Trusts not to men: nightly within his chamber The watch-dog guards his couch, the only friend He now dare trust.

Words of affection, howsoe'er express'd, The latest spoken still are deem'd the best.

Pampered vanity is a hotter thing perhaps than starved pride.

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.

But woman's grief is like a summer storm, Short as it violent is.

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.

The hushed winds wail with feeble moan Like infant charity.

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.

A willing heart adds feather to the heel, And makes the clown a winged Mercury.

Amongst the many trials to which the human mind is subjected, that of holding intercourse, real or imaginary, with the world of spirits: of finding itself alone with a being terrific and awful, whose nature and power are unknown, has been justly considered the most severe.

Tell it, I pray thee. And let me cow'ring stand, and be my touch The valley's ice: there is a pleasure in it. Yea, when the cold blood shoots through every vein; When every pore upon my shrunken skin A knotted knoll becomes, and to mine ears Strange inward sounds awake, and to mine eyes Rush stranger tears, there is a joy in fear.

Yet little varlet that thou art, thou twitchest at the heart.

This will be triumph! This will be happiness! Yea, that very thing, happiness, which I have been pursuing all my life, and have never yet overtaken.

Time never bears such moments on his wing as when he flies too swiftly to be marked.

O lovely Sisters! is it true That they are all inspired by you, And write by inward magic charm'd, And high enthusiasm warm'd?

A willing heart adds feather to the heel.