"The poorest man may in his cottage bid defiance to all the forces of the Crown. It may be frail—its roof may shake—the wind may blow through it—the storm may enter—the rain may enter—but the King of England cannot enter—all his force dares not cross the threshold of the ruined tenement." So be it—unless he has justification by law.
Death must obliterate all memories and affections and ideas and laws, or the awakening in the next world will be amid the welcomes, and loves and raptures of those who left us with tearful farewells, and with dying promises that they would wait to welcomes us when we should arrive. And so they do. Not sorrowfully, not anxiously, but lovingly, they wait to bid us welcome.randolph sinks foster
O golden Silence, bid our souls be still,And on the foolish fretting of our careLay thy soft touch of healing unaware!julia caroline dorr
The poorest man may in his cottage bid defiance to all the force of the Crown. It may be frail, its roof may shake; the wind may blow through it; the storms may enter, the rain may enter, but the King of England cannot enter; all his forces dare not cross the threshold of the ruined tenement!William Pitt the Elder
To the guests that must go, bid God's speed and brush away all traces of their steps.rabindranath tagore
Gentlemen, I bid you farewell…
Ask me no more: what answer should I give? I love not hollow cheek or faded eye: Yet,O my friend, I will not have thee die! Ask me no more, lest I should bid thee live.Tennyson
If my best wines mislike thy taste,And my best service win thy frown,Then tarry not, I bid thee haste;There's many another Inn in town.thomas bailey aldrich
I bid him look into the lives of men as though into a mirror, and from others to take an example for himself.terence
Are we not bold to bid a god repent; To break upon his slumbers with our prayers; To watch him day and night; to wear him out With endless supplication? Perhaps to beg His kind attention to a pleasant tale; To cheat him into pity, and conclude Each story with Prometheus?hartley coleridge
You’re out of the woods You’re out of the dark You’re out of the night Step into the sun , step into the light , Keep straight ahead For the most glorious place On the Face of the Earth Or the sky . Hold onto your breath Hold onto your heart Hold onto your hope , March up to the gate And bid it open.yip harburg
Soul of the age! The applause, delight, the wonder of our stage! My Shakespeare , rise; I will not lodge thee by Chaucer or Spenser , or bid Beaumont lie A little further, to make thee a room; Thou art a monument, without a tomb, And art alive still, while thy book doth live, And we have wits to read , and praise to give .Ben Jonson
The moment the very name of Ireland is mentioned, the English seem to bid adieu to common feeling, common prudence, and to common sense, and to act with the barbarity of tyrants, and the fatuity of idiots.
Th' an'am an Dhia, but there it is The dawn on the hills of Ireland. God's angels lifting the night's black veil From the fair sweet face of my sireland! O Ireland, isn't it grand, you look Like a bride in her rich adornin', And with all the pent up love of my heart I bid you the top of the morning.john locke
It is in the nature of aphoristic thinking to be always in a state of concluding; a bid to have the final word is inherent in all powerful phrase-making.
In you are sent The types of Truths whose life is THE TO COME; In you soars up the Adam from the fall; In you the FUTURE as the PAST is given Ev'n in our death ye bid us hail our birth; Unfold these pages, and behold the Heaven, Without one grave-stone left upon the Earth.Lytton
She bid me take life easy, as the grass grows on the weirs; But I was young and foolish, and now am full of tears.William Butler Yeats
I'll speak to it though Hell itself should gape And bid me hold my peace.
Goodnight! for we shall never bid again Goodmorrow Dark my doom was here, and dark It will be there. I see thee now no more.
Bring the rathe primrose that forsaken dies, The tufted crow-toe, and pale gessamine, The white pink, and the pansy freaked with jet, The glowing violet, The musk-rose, and the well attir'd woodbine, With cowslips wan that hang the pensive head, And every flower that sad embroidery wears: bid amaranthus all his beauty shed, And daffadillies fill their cups with tears, To strew the laureate hearse where Lycid lies.john milton