  What is an epigram? a dwarfish whole, Its body brevity, and wit its soul. Samuel Taylor Coleridge [1772-1834] ———————- As in smooth oil the razor best is whet, So wit is by politeness sharpest set; Their want of edge from their offence is seen, Both pain the heart when exquisitely keen. Unknown ———————- "I hardly ever ope my lips," one cries; "Simonides, what think you of my rule?" "If you're a fool, I think you're very wise; If you are wise, I think you are a fool." Richard Garnett [1835-1906] ———————- Philosopher, whom dost thou most affect, Stoics austere, or Epicurus' sect? Friend, 'tis my grave infrangible design With those to study, and with these to dine. Richard Garnett [1835-1906] ———————- Joy is the blossom, sorrow is the fruit, Of human life; and worms are at the root. Walter Savage Landor [1775-1864] ———————- No truer word, save God's, was ever spoken, Than that the largest heart is soonest broken. Walter Savage Landor [1775-1864] ———————- This house, where once a lawyer dwelt, Is now a smith's. Alas! How rapidly the iron age Succeeds the age of brass! William Erskine [1769-1822] ———————- "I would," says Fox, "a tax devise That shall not fall on me." "Then tax receipts," Lord North replies, "For those you never see." Richard Brinsley Sheridan [1751-1816] ———————- You beat your pate, and fancy wit will come. Knock as you please,—there's nobody at home. Alexander Pope [1688-1744] ———————- If a man who turnips cries Cry not when his father dies, 'Tis a proof that he would rather Have a turnip than a father. Samuel Johnson [1709-1784] ———————- Life is a jest, and all things show it; I said so once, and now I know it. John Gay [1685-1732] ———————- I am his Highness' dog at Kew. Pray, sir, tell me,—whose dog are you? Alexander Pope [1688-1744] ———————- Sir, I admit your general rule, That every poet is a fool, But you yourself may serve to show it, That every fool is not a poet. Samuel Taylor Coleridge [1772-1834] ———————- Damis, an author cold and weak, Thinks as a critic he's divine; Likely enough; we often make Good vinegar of sorry wine. Unknown ———————- Swans sing before they die—'twere no bad thing Did certain persons die before they sing. Samuel Taylor Coleridge [1772-1834] ———————- He who in his pocket hath no money Should, in his mouth, be never without honey. Unknown ———————- Nobles and heralds, by your leave, Here lies what once was Matthew Prior, The son of Adam and of Eve; Can Bourbon or Nassau claim higher? Matthew Prior [1664-1721] ———————- Here lie I, Martin Elginbrodde; Hae mercy o' my soul, Lord God, As I wad do were I Lord God, And ye were Martin Elginbrodde. George Macdonald [1824-1905] ———————- Who killed Kildare? Who dared Kildare to kill? Death killed Kildare—who dare kill whom he will. Jonathan Swift [1667-1745] ———————- With death doomed to grapple, Beneath the cold slab he Who lied in the chapel Now lies in the abbey. Byron's epitaph for Pitt ———————- When doctrines meet with general approbation, It is not heresy, but reformation. David Garrick [1717-1779] ———————- Treason doth never prosper; what's the reason? Why, if it prosper, none dare call it treason. John Harington [1561-1612] ———————- God bless the King—I mean the faith's defender! God bless (no harm in blessing!) the Pretender! But who pretender is, or who is King— God bless us all!—that's quite another thing. John Byrom [1692-1763] ———————- 'Tis highly rational, we can't dispute, The Love, being naked, should promote a suit: But doth not oddity to him attach Whose fire's so oft extinguished by a match? Richard Garnett [1835-1906] ———————- "Come, come," said Tom's father, "at your time of life, There's no longer excuse for thus playing the rake.— It is time you should think, boy, of taking a wife."— Why, so it is, father,—whose wife shall I take?" Thomas Moore [1779-1852] ———————- When Eve upon the first of men The apple pressed with specious cant, O, what a thousand pities then That Adam was not Adam-ant! Thomas Moore [1779-1852] ———————- Whilst Adam slept, Eve from his side arose: Strange! his first sleep should be his last repose! Unknown ———————- "What? rise again with all one's bones," Quoth Giles, "I hope you fib: I trusted, when I went to Heaven, To go without my rib. Samuel Taylor Coleridge [1772-1834] ———————- Here lies my wife: here let her lie! Now she's at rest, and so am I. John Dryden [1631-1700] ———————- After such years of dissension and strife, Some wonder that Peter should weep for his wife; But his tears on her grave are nothing surprising,— He's laying her dust, for fear of its rising. Thomas Hood [1799-1845] |
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