What cities, as great as this, have . . . promised themselves immortality! Posterity can — Oliver Goldsmith
On the stage he was natural, simple, affecting, ‘Twas only when he was off, he was acting. — Oliver Goldsmith
Amid thy desert-walks the lapwing flies, And tires their echoes with unvaried cries. — Oliver Goldsmith
Her modest looks the cottage might adorn, Sweet as the primrose peeps beneath the thorn. — Oliver Goldsmith
Eternal blessings crown my earliest friend, And round his dwelling guardian saints attend. — Oliver Goldsmith
And the weak soul, within itself unbless’d, Leans for all pleasure on another’s breast. — Oliver Goldsmith
Thus ’tis with all; their chief and constant care Is to seem everything but what they are. — Oliver Goldsmith