Reference > Quotations > Hoyt & Roberts, comps. > Hoyt’s New Cyclopedia of Practical Quotations
Hoyt & Roberts, comps.  Hoyt’s New Cyclopedia of Practical Quotations.  1922.
Ten poor men sleep in peace on one straw heap, as Saadi sings,
But the immensest empire is too narrow for two kings.
        Wm. R. Alger—Oriental Poetry. Elbow Room.
Ah, sweet Content, where doth thine harbour hold?
        Barnabe Barnes—Parthenophil and Parthenophe.
Happy am I; from care I’m free!
Why aren’t they all contented like me?
        Opera of La Bayadère.
From labour health, from health contentment spring;
Contentment opes the source of every joy.
        James Beattie—The Minstrel. Bk. I. St. 13.
In Paris a queer little man you may see,
  A little man all in gray;
Rosy and round as an apple is he,
Content with the present whate’er it may be,
While from care and from cash he is equally free,
  And merry both night and day!
“Ma foi! I laugh at the world.” says he,
“I laugh at the world, and the world laughs at me!”
What a gay little man in gray.
        Beranger—The Little Man all in Gray. Trans. by Amelia B. Edwards.
There was a jolly miller once,
  Lived on the River Dee;
He worked and sang, from morn to night;
  No lark so blithe as he.
And this the burden of his song,
  Forever used to be,—
  “I care for nobody, not I,
  If no one cares for me.”
        Bickerstaff—Love in a Village. Act I. Sc. 5.
Some things are of that nature as to make
One’s fancy chuckle, while his heart doth ache.
        Bunyan—The Author’s Way of Sending Forth his Second Part of the Pilgrim. L. 126.
Contented wi’ little, and cantie wi’ mair.
        BurnsContented wi’ Little.
I’ll be merry and free,
  I’ll be sad for nae-body;
If nae-body cares for me,
  I’ll care for nae-body.
With more of thanks and less of thought,
  I strive to make my matters meet;
To seek what ancient sages sought,
  Physic and food in sour and sweet,
To take what passes in good part,
And keep the hiccups from the heart.
        John Byrom—Careless Content.
  I would do what I pleased, and doing what I pleased, I should have my will, and having my will, I should be contented; and when one is contented, there is no more to be desired; and when there is no more to be desired, there is an end of it.
        Cervantes—Don Quixote. Pt. I. Bk. IV. Ch. XXIII.
In a cottage I live, and the cot of content,
  Where a few little rooms for ambition too low,
Are furnish’d as plain as a patriarch’s tent,
  With all for convenience, but nothing for show:
Like Robinson Crusoe’s, both peaceful and pleasant,
  By industry stor’d, like the hive of a bee;
And the peer who looks down with contempt on a peasant.
  Can ne’er be look’d up to with envy by me.
        John Collins—How to be Happy. Song in his Scripscrapologia.
We’ll therefore relish with content,
Whate’er kind Providence has sent,
  Nor aim beyond our pow’r;
For, if our stock be very small,
’Tis prudent to enjoy it all,
  Nor lose the present hour.
        Nathaniel Cotton—The Fireside. St. 10.
Enjoy the present hour, be thankful for the past,
And neither fear nor wish th’ approaches of the last.
        Cowley—Imitations. Martial. Bk. X. Ep. XLVII.
Give what thou wilt, without thee we are poor;
And with thee rich, take what thou wilt away.
        Cowper—Task. Winter Morning Walk. Last lines.
What happiness the rural maid attends,
In cheerful labour while each day she spends!
She gratefully receives what Heav’n has sent,
And, rich in poverty, enjoys content.
        Gay—Rural Sports. Canto II. L. 148.
Where wealth and freedom reign, contentment fails,
And honour sinks where commerce long prevails.
        Goldsmith—The Traveller. L. 91.
Their wants but few, their wishes all confin’d.
        Goldsmith—The Traveller. L. 210.
Happy the man, of mortals happiest he,
Whose quiet mind from vain desires is free;
Whom neither hopes deceive, nor fears torment,
But lives at peace, within himself content;
In thought, or act, accountable to none
But to himself, and to the gods alone.
        Geo. Granville (Lord Lansdowne)—Epistle to Mrs. Higgons, 1690. L. 79.
Sweet are the thoughts that savour of content;
The quiet mind is richer than a crown;
Sweet are the nights in careless slumber spent;
The poor estate scorns fortune’s angry frown:
Such sweet content, such minds, such sleep, such bliss,
Beggars enjoy, when princes oft do miss.
        Robert Greene—Song. Farewell to Folly.
Let’s live with that small pittance which we have;
Who covets more is evermore a slave.
        Herrick—The Covetous Still Captive.
Quanto quisque sibi plura negaverit,
A dis plura feret. Nil cupientium
Nudus castra peto.
The more a man denies himself, the more he shall receive from heaven. Naked, I seek the camp of those who covet nothing.
        Horace—Carmina. III. 16. 21.
          Multa petentibus
Desunt multa; bene est cui deus obtulit
Parca quod satis est manu.
  Those who want much, are always much in need; happy the man to whom God gives with a sparing hand what is sufficient for his wants.
        Horace—Carmina. III. 16. 42.
Quod satis est cui contigit, nihil amplius optet.
  Let him who has enough ask for nothing more.
        Horace—Epistles. I. 2. 46.
Sit mihi quod nunc est, etiam minus et mihi vivam
Quod superest ævi—si quid superesse volunt di.
  Let me possess what I now have, or even less, so that I may enjoy my remaining days, if Heaven grant any to remain.
        Horace—Epistles. I. 18. 107.
          Sit mihi mensa tripes et
Coucha salis puri et toga quæ defendere frigus
  Quamvis crassa queat.
  Let me have a three-legged table, a dish of salt, and a cloak which, altho’ coarse, will keep off the cold.
        Horace—Satires. I. 3. 13.
Yes! in the poor man’s garden grow,
  Far more than herbs and flowers,
Kind thoughts, contentment, peace of mind,
  And joy for weary hours.
        Mary Howitt—The Poor Man’s Garden.
  Contentment furnishes constant joy. Much covetousness, constant grief. To the contented even poverty is joy. To the discontented, even wealth is a vexation.
        Ming Sum Paou Keën—In Chinese Repository. Trans. by Dr. Milne.
It is good for us to be here.
        Matthew. XVII. 4.
          So well to know
Her own, that what she wills to do or say
Seems wisest, virtuousest, discreetest, best.
        MiltonParadise Lost. Bk. VIII. L. 548.
No eye to watch, and no tongue to wound us,
All earth forgot, and all heaven around us!
        Moore—Come O’er the Sea.
Vive sine invidia, mollesque inglorius annos
Exige; amicitias et tibi junge pares.
  May you live unenvied, and pass many pleasant years unknown to fame; and also have congenial friends.
        Ovid—Tristium. III. 4. 43.
The eagle nestles near the sun;
  The dove’s low nest for me!—
The eagle’s on the crag; sweet one,
  The dove’s in our green tree!
For hearts that beat like thine and mine
  Heaven blesses humble earth;—
The angels of our Heaven shall shine
  The angels of our Hearth!
        J. J. Piatt—A Song of Content.
  Si animus est æquus tibi satis habes, qui bene vitam colas.
  If you are content, you have enough to live comfortably.
        Plautus—Aulularia. II. 2. 10.
Habeas ut nactus: nota mala res optima est.
  Keep what you have got; the known evil is best.
        Plautus—Trinummus. I. 2. 25.
Whate’er the passion, knowledge, fame, or pelf,
Not one will change his neighbor with himself.
        Pope—Essay on Man. Ep. II. L. 261.
  I earn that I eat, get that I wear, owe no man hate, envy no man’s happiness; glad of other men’s good, content with my harm.
        As You Like It. Act III. Sc. 2. L. 77.
He that commends me to mine own content
Commends me to the thing I cannot get.
        Comedy of Errors. Act I. Sc. 2. L. 33.
For mine own part, I could be well content
To entertain the lag-end of my life
With quiet hours.
        Henry IV. Pt. I. Act V. Sc. 1. L. 23.
          The shepherd’s homely curds,
His cold thin drink out of his leathern bottle,
His wonted sleep under a fresh tree’s shade,
All which secure and sweetly he enjoys,
Is far beyond a prince’s delicates,
His viands sparkling in a golden cup,
His body couched in a curious bed,
When care, mistrust, and treason wait on him.
        Henry VI. Pt. III. Act II. Sc. 5. L. 47.
My crown is in my heart, not on my head;
Not deck’d with diamonds and Indian stones,
Nor to be seen: my crown is called content;
A crown it is that seldom kings enjoy.
        Henry VI. Pt. III. Act III. Sc. 1. L. 63.
Why, I can smile, and murder whiles I smile,
And cry, “Content” to that which grieves my heart;
And wet my cheeks with artificial tears,
And frame my face to all occasions.
        Henry VI. Pt. III. Act III. Sc. 2. L. 182.
’Tis better to be lowly born,
And range with humble livers in content,
Than to be perk’d up in a glistering grief,
And wear a golden sorrow.
        Henry VIII. Act II. Sc. 3. L. 19.
          Our content
Is our best having.
        Henry VIII. Act II. Sc. 3. L. 23.
          Shut up
In measureless content.
        Macbeth. Act II. Sc. 1. L. 17.
          If it were now to die,
’Twere now to be most happy; for I fear
My soul hath her content so absolute
That not another comfort like to this
Succeeds in unknown fate.
        Othello. Act II. Sc. 1. L. 191.
  ’Tis not so deep as a well, nor so wide as a church door; but ’tis enough, ’twill serve.
        Romeo and Juliet. Act III. Sc. 1. L. 100.
Not on the outer world
  For inward joy depend;
Enjoy the luxury of thought,
  Make thine own self friend;
Not with the restless throng,
  In search of solace roam
But with an independent zeal
  Be intimate at home.
        Lydia Sigourney—Know Thyself.
The noblest mind the best contentment has.
        Spenser—Faerie Queene. Bk. I. Canto I. St. 35.
Dear little head, that lies in calm content
  Within the gracious hollow that God made
In every human shoulder, where He meant
  Some tired head for comfort should be laid.
        Celia Thaxter—Song.
An elegant Sufficiency, Content,
Retirement, rural Quiet, Friendship, Books,
Ease and alternate Labor, useful Life,
Progressive Virtue, and approving Heaven!
        Thomson—Seasons. Spring. L. 1,159.
Vivite felices, quibus est fortuna peracta
Jam sua.
  Be happy ye, whose fortunes are already completed.
        Vergil—Æneid. III. 493.
This is the charm, by sages often told,
Converting all it touches into gold:
Content can soothe, where’er by fortune placed,
Can rear a garden in the desert waste.
        Henry Kirk White—Clifton Grove. L. 130.
There is a jewel which no Indian mines can buy,
  No chymic art can counterfeit;
It makes men rich in greatest poverty,
  Makes water wine; turns wooden cups to gold;
  The homely whistle to sweet music’s strain,
Seldom it comes;—to few from Heaven sent,
That much in little, all in naught, Content.
        John Wilbye—Madrigales. There Is a Jewel.

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