Henry Fielding (1707 – 1754)
English novelist and dramatist known for his rich earthy humor and satirical prowess and as the author of the novel Tom Jones.
The dusky night rides down the sky,
And ushers in the morn;
The hounds all join in glorious cry,
The huntsman winds his horn,
And a-hunting we will go.
I have found it; I have discovered the cause of all the misfortunes which befell him. A public school, Joseph, was the cause of all the calamaties which he afterwards suffered. Public schools are the nurseries of all vice and immorality.
"For it is very hard, my lord," said a convicted felon at the bar to the late excellent judge Burnet, "to hang a poor man for stealing a horse." "You are not to be hanged sir," answered my ever-honored and beloved friend, "for stealing a horse, but you are to be hanged that horses may not be stolen."
Thwackum was for doing justice, and leaving mercy to heaven.
Penny saved is a penny got.
Sir, money, money, the most charming of all things; money, which will say more in one moment than the most elegant lover can in years. Perhaps you will say a man is not young; I answer he is rich. He is not genteel, handsome, witty, brave, good-humoured, but he is rich, rich, rich, rich, rich — that one word contradicts everything you can say against him.
When widows exclaim loudly against second marriages, I would always lay a wager that the man, if not the wedding day, is absolutely fixed on.
When I'm not thanked at all, I'm thanked enough;
I've done my duty, and I've done no more.
One fool at least in every married couple.
To sun myself in Huncamunca's eyes.
Oh, the roast beef of England,
And old England's roast beef!
It is a trite but true observation, that examples work more forcibly on the mind than precepts.
It hath been often said, that it is not death, but dying which is terrible.
This story will not go down.
I describe not men, but manners; not an individual, but a species.
There is not in the universe a more ridiculous, nor more contemptible animal, than a proud clergyman.
He was, indeed, in a condition, in which, if reason had interposed, though only to advise, she might have received the answer which one Cleostratus gave many years ago to a silly fellow, who asked him, if he was not ashamed to be drunk? "Are not you," said Cleostratus, "ashamed to admonish a drunken man?" — To say the truth, in a court of justice drunkenness must not be an excuse, yet in a court of conscience it is greatly so.
I am content; that is a blessing greater than riches; and he to whom that is given need ask no more.
A comic writer should of all others be the least excused for deviating from nature, since it may not be always so easy for a serious poet to meet with the great and the admirable; but life every where furnishes an accurate observer with the ridiculous.