First, then, a woman will, or won’t, – depend on’t; If she will do’t, she will; and there’s an end on’t. But, if she won’t, since safe and sound your trust is, Fear is affront: and jealousy injustice.
AARON HILLShame on those breasts of stone that cannot melt in soft adoption of another’s sorrow.
More Aaron Hill Quotes
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Servile doubt argues an impotence of mind, that says we fear because we dare not meet misfortunes.
AARON HILL -
Youth is ever apt to judge in haste, and lose the medium in the wild extreme.
AARON HILL -
Deceit is the false road to happiness; and all the joys we travel through to vice, like fairy banquets, vanish when we touch them.
AARON HILL -
She who means no mischief does it all.
AARON HILL -
Oh, treacherous night thou lendest thy ready veil to every treason, and teeming mischief’s beneath thy shade.
AARON HILL -
Union of hearts, not hands, does a marriage make, and sympathy of mind keeps love awake.
AARON HILL -
Customs form us all, our thoughts, our morals, our most fixed beliefs; are consequences of our place of birth.
AARON HILL -
Let never man be bold enough to say, Thus, and no farther shall my passion stray: The first crime, past, compels us into more, And guilt grows fate, that was but choice, before.
AARON HILL -
Hide not thy tears; weep boldly, and be proud to give the flowing virtue manly way; it is nature’s mark to know an honest heart by.
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Courage is poorly housed that dwells in numbers; the lion never counts the herd that are about him, nor weighs how many flocks he has to scatter.
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The man with but one idea in his head is sure to exaggerate that to top-heaviness, and thus he loses his equilibrium.
AARON HILL -
When Christ at Cana’s feast by pow’r divine, Inspir’d cold water, with the warmth of wine, See! cry’d they while, in red’ning tide, it gush’d, The bashful stream hath seen its God and blush’d.
AARON HILL -
Mischief and malice grow on the same branch of the tree of evil.
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Let shining Charity adorn your zeal, The noblest impulse generous minds can feel.
AARON HILL -
O marriage! marriage! what a curse is thine, Where hands alone consent and hearts abhor.
AARON HILL