A Quote by Richard Brinsley Sheridan

I ne'er could any luster see in eyes that would not look on me. — © Richard Brinsley Sheridan
I ne'er could any luster see in eyes that would not look on me.
I ne'er could any lustre see In eyes that would not look on me; I ne'er saw nectar on a lip But where my own did hope to sip.
Such night in England ne'er had been, nor ne'er again shall be.
Alas! the praise given to the ear Ne'er was nor ne'er can be sincere.
If I could write the beauty of your eyes And in fresh numbers number all your graces, The age to come would say, 'This poet lies; Such heavenly touches ne'er touch'd earthly faces.'
Who ne'er his bread in sorrow ate, Who ne'er the mournful midnight hours Weeping upon his bed has sate, He knows you not, ye Heavenly Powers.
Wouldst thou wisely, and with pleasure, Pass the days of life's short measure, From the slow one counsel take, But a tool of him ne'er make; Ne'er as friend the swift one know, Nor the constant one as foe.
Ne'er to meet, or ne'er to part, is peace.
Tis strange the miser should his cares employTo gain those riches he can ne'er enjoy;Is it less strange the prodigal should wasteHis wealth to purchase what he ne'er can taste?
Whoever thinks a faultless piece to see, Thinks what ne'er was, nor is, nor e'er shall be.
But there are wanderers o'er Eternity Whose bark drives on and on, and anchor'd ne'er shall be.
Had I a heart for falsehood framed, I ne'er could injure you.
"There is no God," the foolish saith, But none, "There is no sorrow." And nature oft the cry of faith In bitter need will borrow: Eyes which the preacher could not school, By wayside graves are raised; And lips say, "God be pitiful," Who ne'er said, "God be praised."
Traveller, let your step be light, So that sleep these eyes may close, For poor Scarron, till to-night, Ne'er was able e'en to doze.
For me it's liberating to be able to look somebody in the eyes and know that they can't see my eyes. I've always thought that when I would see Slipknot playing.
Ah, fool! faint heart fair lady ne'er could win.
Whoever thinks a faultless piece to see, Thinks what ne'er was, nor is, nor e'er shall be, In every work regard the writer's end, Since none can compass more than they intend; And if the means be just, the conduct true, Applause, in spite of trivial faults, is due.
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