His pencil was striking, resistless, and grand; His manners were gentle, complying, and bland; Still born to improve in every part, His pencil out faces, his manners are heart.

Oliver Goldsmith

Oliver Goldsmith

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The canvas glow'd beyond ev'n nature warm; The pregnant quarry teem'd with human form.

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Be not affronted at a joke. If one throw salt at thee, thou wilt receive no harm, unless thou art raw.

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When lovely woman stoops to folly, and finds too late that men betray, what charm can soothe her melancholy, what art can wash her guilt away?

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They say women and music should never be dated

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