Quotes About Perception

Most women have no characters at all.

Never was it given to mortal man - To lie so boldly as we women can.

No woman ever hates a man for being in love with her, but many a woman hate a man for being a friend to her.

Lo, the poor Indian! whose untutor'd mindSees God in clouds, or hears him in the wind;His soul proud Science never taught to strayFar as the solar walk or milky way;Yet simple nature to his hope has giv'n,Behind the cloud-topp'd hill, an humbler heav'n.

Lo! The poor Indian, whose untutored mind sees God in clouds, or hears him in the wind.

All seems infected that th' infected spy,As all looks yellow to the jaundic'd eye.

Men, some to business, some to pleasure take;But ev'ry woman is at heart a rake.

If to her share some female errors fall,Look on her face, and you'll forget 'em all.

A person who is too nice an observer of the business of the crowd, like one who is too curious in observing the labor of bees, will often be stung for his curiosity.

Some judge of authors' names, not works, and thenNor praise nor blame the writings, but the men.

And all who told it added something new, And all who heard it made enlargements too.

At every trifle take offense, that always shows great pride or little sense.

Fools admire, but men of sense approve.

A work of art that contains theories is like an object on which the price tag has been left.

Some judge of authors' names, not works, and then nor praise nor blame the writings, but the men.

Remembrance and reflection how allied! What thin partitions Sense from Thought divide!

Words are like Leaves; and where they most abound, Much Fruit of Sense beneath is rarely found. False Eloquence, like the Prismatic Glass, Its gawdy Colours spreads on ev'ry place; The Face of Nature was no more Survey, All glares alike, without Distinction gay: But true Expression, like th' unchanging Sun, Clears, and improves whate'er it shines upon, It gilds all Objects, but it alters none.

Where beams of imagination play, The memory's soft figures melt away.

Know thy own point: this kind, this due degree Of blindness, weakness, Heav'n bestows on thee.

Our proper bliss depends on what we blame.

Celia" Celia, we know, is sixty-five, Yet Celia's face is seventeen; Thus winter in her breast must live, While summer in her face is seen. How cruel Celia's fate, who hence Our heart's devotion cannot try; Too pretty for our reverence, Too ancient for our gallantry!

Some praise at morning what they blame at night, But always think the last opinion right. A Muse by these is like a mistress used, This hour she's idolized, the next abused; While their weak heads, like towns unfortified, 'Twixt sense and nonsense daily change their side. Ask them the cause; they're wiser still they say; And still to-morrow's wiser than to-day.

Launch not beyond your depth, but be discreet, And mark that point where sense and dulness meet.

A prudent chief not always must display His pow'rs in equal ranks, and fair array, But with th' occasion and the place comply, Conceal his force, nay seem sometimes to fly.