Dear, harmless age! the short, swift span Where weeping Virtue parts with man; Where love without lust dwells, and bends What way we please without self-ends. An age of mysteries! which he Must live that would God's face see Which angels guard, and with it play, Angels! which foul men drive away.
I, a Laconian dog, can bite again: Yes, I can make the Daunian tiger flee, Much more a bragging, foul-mouth'd whelp like thee.
When rowan leaves are dank and rusting And rowan berries red as blood, When in my palm the hangman's thrusting The final nail with bony thud, When, over the foul flooding river, Upon the wet grey height, I toss Before my land's grim looks, and shiver As I swing here upon the cross, Then, through the blood and weeping, stretches My dying sight to space remote; I see upon the river's reaches Christ sailing to me in a boat.
Before We end our pilgrimage, 'tis fit that we Should leave corruption, and foul sin, behind us, But with wash'd feet and hands, the heathens dar' not Enter their profane temples; and for me To hope my passage to eternity Can be made easy, till I have shook off The burthen of my sins in free confession, Aided with sorrow, and repentance for them, Is against reason.
The chaste mind, like a polished plane, may admit foul thoughts, without receiving their tincture.
You foul, lying, evil little cockroach!
Slang is a foul pool at which every dunce fills his bucket, and then sets up as a fountain.
What would we do without irony? Check out your own daily reliance on it, the foul-weather friend who's there for you when nothing else is.
There was another time when Mike was really foul mood and we had to make a pit stop so he could use a porta potty. Mike went to use the porta potty and we were waiting inside the RV. It was joe’s idea, but we all got out and started to rock the thing back and forth. We didn’t mean to, but we ended up tipping the porta potty over while Mike was in it! Then we attacked him with air freshener
I've never found an interesting person with a foul mouth.
Fair or foul the lot apportioned life on earth, we bear alike.
Superstition! that horrid incubus which dwelt in darkness, shunning the light, with all its racks, and poison chalices, and foul sleeping draughts, is passing away without return. Religion cannot pass away. The burning of a little straw may hide the stars of the sky; but the stars are there and will reappear.
God's livery is a very plain one; but its wearers have good reason to be content. If it have not so much gold-lace about it as Satan's, it keeps out foul weather better, and is besides a great deal cheaper.
When a depressed person shrinks away from your touch it does not mean he is rejecting you. Rather he is protecting you from the foul, destructive evil which he believes is the essence of his being and which he believes can injure you.
The church has contributed nothing to civilization. It has progressed somewhat, and it has become a little more decent, in reflection of the movements of civilization that have taken place outside of the church and usually in the face of the strong opposition of the church. But the church has always resisted the process of civilization. It has struggled to the last ditch, by fair means and foul, to preserve as long as it could the vestiges of ancient and medieval theology, with all the puerile moralities and harsh customs and medieval styles of belief.
It will be interesting to see what the long term fruits of our national apathy will be, 'cos so far they've been pretty foul.
You are pushed to behave differently here, you don't really have a choice. If you cheat you have no chance of being admired. Even your own supporters will dislike you. So what do you do? Well, the way is not to be stupid, but not to cheat either. If there is a foul, you have to fall. I call it 'helping the referee to make a decision'. That's not cheating.
We talked about it. An assistant coach suggested fouling, but I rejected it because I was afraid we'd foul them shooting and get beat that way. Hindsight couldn't have been worse than what happened to us.
They say love dies between two people. That’s wrong. It doesn’t die. It just leaves you, goes away, if you aren’t good enough, worthy enough. It doesn’t die; you’re the the one that dies. It’s like the ocean: if you’re no good, if you begin to make a bad smell in it, it just spews you up somewhere to die. You die anyway, but I had rather drown in the ocean than be urped up onto a strip of dead beach and be dried away by the sun into a little foul smear with no name to it, just this was for an epitaph
Foul fiend of France and hag of all despite, Encompassed with thy lustful paramours, Becomes it thee to taunt his valiant age And twit with cowardice a man half dead?
A soft and sheltered Christianity, afraid to be lean and lone, unwilling to face the storms and brave the heights, will end up fat and foul in the cages of conformity.
John Arne Riise was deservedly blown up for that foul
Blessed be the night, which conceals and protects things fair and foul with the same indifferent mantle.
Fair speech may hide a foul heart.
Stay out of the gutter in your conversation. Foul talk defiles the man who speaks it.
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