| C.N. Douglas, comp. Forty Thousand Quotations: Prose and Poetical. 1917. | | | | Thirst |
| | | There is no small pleasure in pure water. Ovid. | 1 |
| It is wretched business to be digging a well just as thirst is mastering you. Plautus. | 2 |
| | The incessant fever of that arid thirst |
| Which welcomes as a well the clouds that burst |
| Above their naked heads, and feels delight |
| In the cold drenchings of the stormy night. |
Byron. | 3 |
| | The panting thirst, which scorches in the breath |
| Of those that die the soldier’s fiery death, |
| In vain impels the burning mouth to crave |
| One drop—one last—to cool it for the grave. |
Byron. | 4 |
| | Till taught by pain, |
| Men really know not what good water’s worth |
| If you had been in Turkey or in Spain, |
| Or with a famish’d boat’s-crew had your berth, |
| Or in the desert heard the camel’s bell, |
| You’d wish yourself where truth is—in a well. |
Byron. | 5 | | |
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