Friendship! Mysterious cement of the soul, Sweet'ner of life, and solder of society. — Robert Blair Cement Copy Share Image
The grave, dread thing! Men shiver when thou'rt named: Nature appalled, Shakes off her wonted firmness. — Robert Blair Dread Copy Share Image
The best-concerted schemes men lay for fame, Die fast away: only themselves die faster. The far-fam'd sculptor, and the laurell'd bard, Those… — Robert Blair Aids Copy Share Image
How blunt are all the arrows of thy quiver in comparison with those of guilt. — Robert Blair Arrows Copy Share Image
But if there be an hereafter,And that there is, conscience, uninfluenc'dAnd suffer'd to speak out, tells every man,Then must it be an… — Robert Blair Awful Copy Share Image
Of joys departed, not to return, how painful the remembrance. — Robert Blair Departed Copy Share Image
The tap'ring pyramid, the Egyptian's pride, And wonder of the world, whose spiky top Has wounded the thick cloud. — Robert Blair Clouds Copy Share Image
Our time is fixed, and all our days are number'd; How long, how short, we know not:—this we know, Duty requires we… — Robert Blair Dare Copy Share Image
That discipline which corrects the eagerness of worldly passions, which fortifies the heart with virtuous principles, which enlightens the mind with useful… — Robert Blair Consequence Copy Share Image
Affectation is certain deformity; by forming themselves on fantastic models, the young begin with being ridiculous, and often end in being vicious. — Robert Blair Certain Copy Share Image
Throughout the whole vegetable, sensible, and rational world, whatever makes progress towards maturity, as soon as it has passed that point, begins… — Robert Blair Aging Copy Share Image
Industry is not only the instrument of improvement, but the foundation of pleasure. He who is a stranger to it may possess,… — Robert Blair Body Copy Share Image
How shocking must thy summons be, O death, to him that is at ease in his possessions! who, counting on long years… — Robert Blair Counting Copy Share Image
The good he scorn'd Stalk'd off reluctant, like an ill-us'd ghost, Not to return; or if it did, its visits Like those… — Robert Blair Angel Copy Share Image
Beauty! thou pretty plaything! dear deceit, That steals so softly o'er the stripling's heart, And gives it a new pulse unknown before! — Robert Blair Beauty Copy Share Image
