« 上一頁繼續 »
Whatever stress some may lay upon it, a death-bed repentance is but a weak and slender plank to trust our all upon. Sterne. DEATH-BED-Secrets of the.
It is a fearful thing to wait and watch for the approach of death; to know that hope is gone, and recovery impossible; and to sit and count the dreary hours through long, long nights, such nights as only watchers by the bed of sickness know. It chills the blood to |
hear the dearest secrets of the heart-the pentup, hidden secrets of many years-poured forth by the unconscious, helpless being before you; and to think how little the reserve and cunning of a whole life will avail when fever and delirium tear off the mask at last. Strange tales have been told in the wanderings of dying men; tales so full of guilt and crime, that those who stood by the sick person's couch have fled in horror and affright, lest they should be scared to madness by what they heard and saw; and many a wretch has died alone, raving of deeds the very name of which has driven the boldest man away.
DEBT-Keeping out of.
"Out of debt, out of danger," is, like many other proverbs, full of wisdom; but the word danger does not sufficiently express all that the warning demands.
To one that is not callous, a state of debt and embarrassment is a state of positive misery; the sufferer is as one haunted by an evil spirit, and his heart can know neither rest nor peace till it is cast out. But as example is at all times more instructive than precept, a living writer shall describe his own feelings when beset with creditors, and may he prove a beacon to the thoughtless ones who are likely to fall into the same gulf.
Quiet was never my destiny. The first involvement multiplies itself at every move. It destroys the freedom of the intellect and the heart, and drives one into a state of mistiness, which seeks extrication by the very means which augment it. It encourages self-delusions for the sake of momentary peace; and, like inebriety, buys oblivion at the expense of quickly-succeeding pain and sickness. The creditor, who thinks himself sure of his debt at last, delights in giving credit, because he has his debtor at his mercy, makes his own usurious terms with him, and gorges on his blood. He who lives on credit does not dare examine bills; and the creditor charges according to the degree of his own wide conscience. Thus there is a difference of at least cent. per cent. in every article the debtor consumes; and two thousand pounds a-year with him, will not go so far as one in the hands of him who pays ready money, and looks to his accounts.
Pecuniary embarrassment weakens and chains the mind; and, perhaps, the worst effect of all is in the indignities to which it subjects its victim. There is no rule of life, therefore, more urgent than to avoid it; nor has a careless man the slightest suspicion of what may be the effect of overlooking a comparatively slight error. Bridges.
Debt haunts the mind: a conversation about justice troubles it; the sight of a creditor fills it with confusion; even the sanctuary is not a place of refuge. The borrower is servant to the lender. A life at another man's table is not to be accounted for a life. It is mean to flatter the rich; it is humiliating to be the object of pity. To be the slave of unattainable desires is to be despicable and wretched. Independence, so essential to the virtues and pleasures of a man, can only be maintained by setting bounds to our desires, and owing no man anything. A habit of boundless expense undermines and destroys the virtues even in a mind where they seem to dwell. It becomes difficult, and at last impossible, to pay punetually. When a man of sensibility thinks of the low rate at which his word must hence. forth pass, he is little in his own eyes; but
dificulties prompt him to study deceiving as
What man so wise, what earthly wit so rare,
And seem like Truth, whose shape she well
this rate he sells the virtuous pleasures of By which Deceit doth mask in visor fair,
followed by the loss of humanity. His calls
The greatest of all distinctions in civil life is that of debtor and creditor; and there needs no great progress in logic to know which, in that case, is the advantageous side. He who can say to another, "Pray, master," or "Pray, my lord, give me my own," can as justly tell him, "It is a fantastical distinction you take apon you, to pretend to pass upon the world for my master or lord, when, at the same time that I wear your livery, you owe me wages; or, while I wait at your door, you are ashamed to see me until you have paid my bill." Steele.
Paying of debts is, next to the grace of God, the best means in the world to deliver you from a thousand temptations to sin and vanity. Pay your debts, and you will not have wherewithal to buy a costly toy or a pernicious pleasure. Pay your debts, and you will not have what to lose to a gamester. In short, pay your debts, and you will of necessity abstain from many indulgences that war against the spirit, and bring you into captivity to sin, and cannot fail to end in your utter destruction, both of soul and body. Delany.
Ah, that Deceit should steal such gentle shapes,
Think'st thou there are no serpents in the world
He who attempts to make others believe in means which he himself despises, is a puffer; he who makes use of more means than he knows to be necessary, is a quack; and he who ascribes to those means a greater efficacy than his own experience warrants, is an im
Of all the agonies in life, that which is most poignant and harrowing-that which for the time annihilates reason, and leaves our whole organisation one lacerated, mangled heart-is the conviction that we have been deceived where we placed all the trust of love.
It many times falls out that we deem ourselves much deceived in others, because we first deceived ourselves. Sir Philip Sidney. DECEPTION(Self)-the Worst of Frauds. The first and worst of all frauds is to cheat oneself. All sin is easy after that. Bailey.
DECEPTION (Self)-a Present Pleasure.
Many a man has a kind of a kaleidoscope, where the bits of broken glass are his own merits and fortunes, and they fall into harmonious arrangements, and delight him, often most mischievously and to his ultimate detriment; but they are a present pleasure. Helps.
Why, then, to me this restless world's but hell,
'Till this misshapen trunk's aspiring head
These our times are not the same, Aruntiu,
Against all charm of the benefits, did strike
Lie rack'd up with their ashes in their urns,
DEGREES-Social Necessity of.
Take but degree away, untune that string, And, hark, what discord follows! each thing
In mere oppugnancy: the bounded waters Should lift their bosoms higher than the shores,
And make a sop of all this solid globe:
And the rude son should strike his father dead:
Force should be right; or, rather, right and wrong
(Between whose endless jar justice resides) Should lose their names, and so should justice too.
Then everything includes itself in power,
Silence and Twilight here, twin-sisters, keep Their noon-day watch, and sail among the shades
Like vaporous shapes half seen: beyond, a well,
Dark, gleaming, and of most translucent wave,
DELUGE-Description of the.
The central waters round, impetuous rush'd,
In every village there will arise a miscreant, to establish the most grinding tyranny, by calling himself the people. Sir Robert Peel.
DENIAL (Self)—The Advantages of.
In an arch, each single stone, which, if severed from the rest, would be perhaps defenceless, is sufficiently secured by the solidity and entireness of the whole fabric of which it is a part. Hon. Robert Boyle.
There is none made so great, but he may both need the help and service, and stand in fear of the power and unkindness, even of the meanest of mortals. Seneca.
It is easy to exclude the noon-tide light by closing the eyes; and it is easy to resist the clearest truth by hardening the heart against it. Keith.
DESERT-Aridity of the.
The weary Arabs roam from plain to plain,
So, where our wide Numidian wastes extend, Sudden th' impetuous hurricanes descend, Wheel through the air, in circling eddies play, Tear up the sands, and sweep whole plains away;
The helpless traveller, with wild surprise,
DESERT-Desolation of the.
Next night-a dreary night! Cast on the wildest of the Cyclades isles, Where never human foot had mark'd the shore, These ruffians left me.
Beneath a shade I sat me down, more heavily oppress'd, More desolate at heart than e'er I felt Before when Philomela o'er my head Began to tune her melancholy strain, As piteous of my woes; till by degrees, Composing sleep on wounded nature shed A kind but short relief. At early morn, Waked by the chant of birds, I look'd around For usual objects: objects found I none, Except before me stretch'd the toiling main, And rocks, and woods, in savage view, behind. Thomson
DESERT-Dreariness of the.
The sultry sun had gain'd the middle sky,
Such a house broke ! So noble a master fallen? all gone! and not One friend to take his fortune by the arm, And go along with him. Shakspeare.
DESOLATION-of the Lone One.
Amid this world of death. Day after day,