Quotes about Blush

But 'neath yon crimson tree Lover to listening maid might breathe his flame, Nor mark, within its roseate canopy, Her blush of maiden shame.

Hold on to your divine blush, your innate rosy magic, or end up brown. Once you're brown, you'll find out you're blue. As blue as indigo. And you know what that means. Indigo. Indigoing. Indigone.

Full many a gem of purest ray serene The dark unfathom'd caves of ocean bear; Full many a flower is born to blush unseen, And waste its sweetness on the desert air.

Full many a flower is born to blush unseen, And waste its sweetness on the desert air.

But sad as angels for the good man's sin, Weep to record, and blush to give it in.

Praise and Prayer PRAISE is devotion fit for mighty minds, The diff'ring world's agreeing sacrifice; Where Heaven divided faiths united finds: But Prayer in various discord upward flies. For Prayer the ocean is where diversely Men steer their course, each to a sev'ral coast; Where all our interests so discordant be That half beg winds by which the rest are lost. By Penitence when we ourselves forsake, 'Tis but in wise design on piteous Heaven; In Praise we nobly give what God may take, And are, without a beggar's blush, forgiven.

But Memory blushes at the sneer, And Honor turns with frown defiant, And Freedom, leaning on her spear, Laughs louder than the laughing giant.

Man is the only animal that blushes, or needs to.

The proudest monarch that ever wore a crown, or the most illustrious commander whose fortune it has been to subjugate empires, are melted into contrition when she who nursed the incipient fires of his mortal existence is passing from earth to be hidden from his gaze through the appointed seasons of revolving time. Even the obdurate and depraved turn to her with reverence, and though crime may have placed his feet upon the scaffold where his offense is to be expiated, yet even there the obdurate heart melts into contrition as regretful recollections crowd his bosom that his life had not been molded by the plastic hand of a mother's watchfulness and the words of gentle admonition that fell from her lips. We reverence father for his protection and justice, for sheltering abodes that have secured us from the pelting storms, for his continued kindness as we grow from infancy to manhood, for his wise counsels and expenditure of means, perhaps to polish and refine us with educational science, but through all these bestowments the mother's vigilance has been co-equal, and through all she has ministered as the guardian angel of our existence. Her gentle hand is remembered in every circumstance and condition that has intervened. In health she has spoken kindly congratulations and in sickness has patiently watched through the midnight vigils to bathe the burning brow and still the raging pulse with grateful emollients. She moves in a sphere where unselfish affection holds dominion and wins its votaries by the charms of gentleness and grace, which draw upon the most enduring sensibilities evolved in the bosom of mortals. The adoration that may be revealed in the responsive blushes that glow upon a maiden's cheek, may be more impulsive and brilliant, but cannot be more lasting or conducive to the perpetuity of more substantial benefits. The holy flame of a mother's devotion will burn on undiminished in its brightness, while that of the trusted bride and bridegroom may wane and be extinguished upon the bleak shores swept by the unwelcome winds of adversity.

The accusing spirit, which flew up to heaven's chancery with the oath, blushed as he gave it in; and the recording angel as he wrote it down dropped a tear upon the word and blotted it out forever.

After the first blush of sin comes its indifference.

Some women blush when they are kissed, some call for the police, some swear, some bite. But the worst are those who laugh.

The man that blushes is not quite a brute.

This sense of honor is the sense of right. It is the soul's instinctive love for the good, the true, the commendable, and its instinctive scorn of the base, mean, and vile. There is a confusion between that false honor which cares only what another thinks or says, and the true personal honor which cares first for what we are. It is too true that many a man who would resent with a blow the epithet of "thief" or "liar" will lie and steal in secret apparently without a qualm of conscience. The true root of honor demands reality and hates shams. One should be taught to abhor and reject in his own heart everything which he would resent in an accusation made by another. He should learn not to tolerate in his own inner consciousness what he would fear or blush to have known to friends or foes. This is the sense of personal honor that dominates and molds character and that endures the heaviest stress of life.

The Merchant, to Secure His Treasure The merchant, to secure his treasure, Conveys it in a borrowed name: Euphelia serves to grace my measure, But Cloe is my real flame. My softest verse, my darling lyre Upon Euphelia's toilet lay - When Cloe noted her desire That I should sing, that I should play. My lyre I tune, my voice I raise, But with my numbers mix my sighs; And whilst I sing Euphelia's praise, I fix my soul on Cloe's eyes. Fair Cloe blushed; Euphelia frowned: I sung, and gazed; I played, and trembled: And Venus to the Loves around Remarked how ill we all dissembled.

A letter does not blush.

Stranger, pause and ask thyself the question, Canst thou do likewise? If not, with a blush retire.

Do good by stealth, and blush to find it fame.