H. B. Marriott Watson

H. B. Marriott Watson

Summary

Portrait of H. B. Marriott Watson H. B. Marriott Watson Diogenes of London (collection… (1893)

Swift flies the newest humour round and round; the hot blood clamours in the veins; the spirit mounting from the fiery heart breaks out upon the tongue; the rafters echo—we are met at a feast, and old Death himself may not stay us. One leans to another and whispers; the jest flits lightly; Disdain is our only mother. There is no moment of awe at our board; there is never a hush, never an hour but has wings. Is any mute? Let Death take him for the next; he knows not the way of life. Quit, quit, an you have not the fashion of merriment
Source: Wikisource

Portrait of H. B. Marriott Watson H. B. Marriott Watson Diogenes of London (collection… (1893)

Time has not seen this craven in our midst since man issued his primeval challenge. Whatever changes pass before us we have ever the trick of laughter. Without, though the street roar with noises or be silent with dread, silence nor uproar may trouble us here: our merriment is secure, our joy is immutable, we measure out delights with the measure of our lives. There be none here but have grinned through the feast since Time first set them at the board; grief is a breath that fleets ere the features take note of it, a cough, an itch, a blink that hath no place in time. Despair has no home here
Source: Wikisource

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