Complete Works of Laurence Sterne

by Laurence Sterne

  We are a restless set of beings; and as we are likely to continue so to the end of the world, — the best we can do in it, is to make the same use of this part of our character, which wise men do of other bad propensities — when they find they cannot conquer them, — they endeavour, at least, to divert them into good channels.

  If therefore we must be a solicitous race of self-tormentors, — let us drop the common objects which make us so, — and for God’s sake be solicitous only to live well.

  SERMON XXII. P. 145.

  ROOTED OPINION NOT EASILY ERADICATED.

  HOW difficult you will find it to convince a miserly heart, that any thing is good which is not profitable? or a libertine one, that any thing is bad, which is pleasant?

  SERMON XXIII. PAGE, 163.

  DEATH.

  THERE are many instances of men, who have received the news of death with the greatest ease of mind, and even entertained the thoughts of it with smiles upon their countenances, — and this, either from strength of spirits and the natural cheerfulness of their temper, — or that they knew the world, and cared not for it — or expected a better — yet thousands of good men, with all the helps of philosophy, and against all the assurances of a well-spent life, that the change must be to their account, — upon the approach of death have still lean’d towards this world, and wanted spirits and resolution to bear the shock of a separation from it for ever.

  SERMON XVII. PAGE, 37.

  SORROW.

  SWEET is the look of sorrow for an offence, in a heart determined never to commit it more! — upon that alter only could I offer up my wrongs.

  SERMON XVIII. P. 64.

  SIMPLICITY.

  SIMPLICITY is the great friend to Nature, and if I would be proud of any thing in this silly world, it should be of this honest alliance.

  SERMON XXIV. P. 187.

  COVETOUSNESS.

  TO know truly what it is, we must know what masters it serves; — they are many, and of various casts and humours, — and each one lends it something of its own complexional tint and character.

  This, I suppose, may be the cause that there is a greater and more whimsical mystery in the love of money, than in the darkest and most nonsensical problem that ever was pored on.

  Even at the best, and when the passion seems to seek something more than its own amusement, — there is little — very little, I fear, to be said for its humanity. — It may be a sport to the Miser, — but consider, — it must be death and destruction to others. — The moment this sordid humour begins to govern — farewell all honest and natural affection! farewell, all he owes to parents, to children, to friends! — how fast the obligations vanish! see — he is now stripped of all feelings whatever: — the shrill cry of justice — and the low lamentation of humble distress, are notes equally beyond his compass. — Eternal God! see! — he passes by one whom thou hast just bruised, without one pensive reflection: — he enters the cabin of the widow whose husband and child thou hast taken to thyself, — exacts his bond, without a sigh! — Heaven! if I am to be be tempted, — let it be by glory, — by ambition, — by some generous and manly vice: — if I must fall, let it be by some passion which thou hast planted in my nature, which shall not harden my heart, but leave me room at last to retreat and come back to thee!

  SERMON. XIX. PAGE, 81.

  HUMILITY.

  HE that is little in his own eyes, is little too in his desires, and consequently moderate in his pursuit of them: like another man he may fail in his attempts and lose the point he aimed at, — but that is all, — he loses not himself, — he loses not his happiness and peace of mind with it, — even the contentions of the humble man are mild and placid. — Blessed character! when such a one is thrust back, who does not pity him? — when he falls, who would not stretch out a hand to raise him up?

  SERMON XXV. P. 193

  PATIENCE AND CONTENTMENT.

  PATIENCE and Contentment, — which like the treasure hid in the field for which a man sold all he had to purchase — is of that price that it cannot be had at too great a purchase, since without it, the best condition in life cannot make us happy, — and with it, it is impossible we should be miserable even in the worst.

  SERMON XV. P. 16.

  HUMILITY CONTRASTED WITH PRIDE.

  WHEN we reflect upon the character of Humility, — we are apt to think it stands the most naked and defenceless of all virtues whatever, — the least able to support its claims against the insolent antagonist who seems ready to bear him down, and all opposition which such a temper can make.

  Now, if we consider him as standing alone, — no doubt, in such a case he will be overpowered and trampled upon by his opposer; — but if we consider the meek and lowly man, as he is — fenced and guarded by the love, the friendship and wishes of all mankind, — that the other stands alone, hated, discountenanced, without one true friend or hearty well-wisher on his side; — when this is balanced, we shall have reason to change our opinion, and be convinced that the humble man, strengthened with such an alliance, is far from being so overmatched as at first sight he may appear; — nay I believe one might venture to go further and engage for it, that in all such cases, where real fortitude and true personal courage were wanted, he is much more likely to give proof of it, and I would sooner look for it in such a temper than in that of his adversary. Pride may make a man violent, — but Humility will make him firm: — and which of the two, do you think, likely to come off with honour? — he who acts from the changeable impulse of heated blood, and follows the uncertain motions of his pride and fury, — or the man who stands cool and collected in himself; who governs his resentiments, instead of being governed by them, and on every occasion acts upon the steady motives of principle and duty.

  SERMON XXV. P. 193

  WITH regard to the provocations and offences which are unavoidably happening to a man in his commerce with the world, — take it as a rule, — as a man’s pride is, — so is always his displeasure; as the opinion of himself rises, — so does the injury, — so does his resentment: ’tis this which gives edge and force to the instrument which has struck him, — and excites that heat in the wound which renders it incurable.

  See how different the case is with the humble man: one half of these painful conflicts he actually escapes; the other part fall lightly on him: — he provokes no man by contempt; thrusts himself forward as the mark of no man’s envy; so that he cuts off the first fretful occasions of the greatest part of these evils; and for those in which the passions of others would involve him, like the humble shrub in the valley, gently gives way, and scarce feels the injury of those stormy encounters which rend the proud cedar, and tear it up by its roots.

  SERMON XXV. P. 190.

  PRIDE.

  THE proud man, — see! — he is sore all over; touch him — you put him to pain: and though of all others, he acts as if every mortal was void of all sense and feeling, yet is possessed with so nice and exquisite a one himself, that the slights, the little neglects and instances of disesteem, which would be scarce felt by another man, are perpetually wounding him, and oft-times piercing him to his very heart.

  SERMON XXIV. P. 174.

  Pride is a vice which grows up in society so insensibly; — steals in unobserved upon the heart upon so many occasions; — forms itself upon such strange pretensions, and when it has done, veils itself under such a variety of unsuspected appearances, — sometimes even under that of Humility itself; — in all which cases, Self-love, like a false friend, instead of checking, most treacherously feeds this humour, — points out some excellence in every soul to make him vain, and think more highly of himself than he ought to think; — that, upon the whole, there is no one weakness into which the heart of man is more easily betray’d — or which requires greater helps of good sense and good principles to guard against.

  SERMON XXIV. P. 177.

  BEAUTY.

  BEAUTY has so many charms, one knows not how to speak against it; and when it happens that
a graceful figure is the habitation of a virtuous soul, when the beauty of the face speaks out the modesty and humility of the mind, and the justness of the proportion raises our thoughts up to the art and wisdom of the great Creator, something may be allowed it, — and something to the embellishments which set it off; — and yet, when the whole apology is read, — it will be found at last, that Beauty, like Truth, never is so glorious as when it goes the plainest.

  SERMON XXIV. P. 187.

  WISDOM.

  LESSONS of wisdom have never such power over us, as when they are wrought into the heart, through the ground — work of a story which engages the passions: Is it that we are like iron, and must first be heated before we can wrought upon? or, Is the heart so in love with deceit, that where a true report will not reach it, we must cheat it with a fable, in order to come at truth?

  SERMON XX. P. 93.

  HUNGER.

  OF all the terrors of nature, that of one day or other dying by hunger, is the greatest, and it is wisely wove into our frame to awaken man to industry, and call forth his talents; and though we seem to go on carelessly, sporting with it as we do with other terrors, — yet, he that sees this enemy fairly, and in his most frightful shape, will need no long remonstrance to make him turn out of the way to avoid him.

  SERMON XX. P. 98.

  DISTRESS.

  NOTHING so powerfully calls home the mind as distress: the tense fibre then relaxes, — the soul retires to itself, — sits pensive and susceptible of right impressions: if we have a friend, ’tis then we think of him; if a benefactor, at that moment all his kindnesses press upon our mind.

  SERMON XX. P. 97.

  IMPOSTURE.

  IMPOSTURE is all dissonance, let what master soever of it undertake the part; let him harmonise and modulate it as he may, one tone will contradict another; and whilst we have ears to hear, we shall distinguish it: ’tis truth only which is consistent and ever in harmony with itself: it sits upon our lips, like the natural notes of some melodies, ready to drop out, whether we will or no; — it racks no invention to let ourselves alone, and needs fear no critic, to have the same excellency in the heart, which appears in the action.

  SERMON XVII. P. 48.

  CONTENTMENT.

  THERE is scarce any lot so low, but there is something in it to satisfy the man whom it has befallen; providence having so ordered things, that in every man’s cup, how bitter soever, there are some cordial drops — some good circumstances, which, if wisely extracted, are sufficient for the purpose he wants them, — that is, to make him contented, and if not happy, at least resigned.

  SERMON XV. P. 19.

  EVILS.

  UNWILLINGLY does the mind digest the evils prepared for it by others; — for those we prepare ourselves, — we eat but the fruit which we have planted and watered: — a shattered fortune — a shattered frame, so we have but the satisfaction of shattering them ourselves, pass naturally enough into the habit, and by the ease with which they are both done, they save the spectator a world of pity: but for those, like Jacob’s, brought upon him by the hands from which he look’d for all his comforts, — the avarice of a parent — the unkindness of a relation, — the ingratitude of a child, — they are evils which leave a scar; — besides, as they hang over the heads of all, and therefore may fall upon any; — every looker-on has an interest in the tragedy; — but then we are apt to interest ourselves no otherwise, than merely as the incidents themselves strike our passions, without carrying the lesson further: — In a word — we realize nothing: — we sigh — we wipe away the tear, — and there ends the story of misery, and the moral with it.

  SERMON XXII. P. 134.

  OPPRESSION.

  SOLOMON says, Oppression will make a wise man mad. — What will it do then to a tender and ingenuous heart, which feels itself neglected, — too full of reverence for the author of its wrongs to complain? — see, it sits down in silence, robbed by discouragements, of all its natural powers to please, — born to see others loaded with caresses — in some uncheery corner it nourishes its discontent, — and with a weight upon its spirits, which its little stock of fortitude is not able to withstand, — it droops, and pines away. — Sad victim of caprice!

  SERMON XXII. P. 136.

  VIRTUE AND VICE.

  WHOEVER considers the state and condition of human nature, and upon this view, how much stronger the natural motives are to virtue than to vice, would expect to find the world much better than it is, or ever has been. — For who would suppose the generality of mankind to betray so much folly, as to act against the common interest of their own kind, as every man does who yields to the temptation of what is wrong.

  SERMON XXXIII. P. 61.

  SIN.

  NO motives have been great enough to restrain those from sin who have secretly loved it, and only sought pretences for the practice of it.

  SERMON XXXIII. P. 62.

  SINCERITY.

  AN inward sincerity will of course influence the outward deportment; but where the one is wanting, there is great reason to suspect the absence of the other.

  SERMON XLIII. P. 246.

  WISDOM.

  THERE is no one project to which the whole race of mankind is so universally a bubble, as to that of being thought wise; and the affectation of it is so visible, in men of all complexions, that you every day see some one or other so very solicitous to establish the character, as not to allow himself leisure to do the things which fairly win it; — expending more art and stratagem to appear so in the eyes of the world, than what would suffice to make him so in truth.

  It is owing to the force of this desire, that you see in general, there is no injury touches a man so sensibly, as an insult upon his parts and capacity: tell a man of other defects, that he wants learning, industry or application, — he will hear your reproof with patience. — Nay you may go further: take him in a proper season, you may tax his morals, — you may tell him he is irregular in his conduct, — passionate or revengeful in his nature — loose in his principles; — deliver it with the gentleness of a friend, — possibly he’ll not only bear with you, — but, if ingenuous, he will thank you for your lecture, and promise a reformation; — but hint, — hint but at a defect in his intellectuals, — touch but that sore place, — from that moment you are look’d upon as an enemy sent to torment him before his time, and in return may reckon upon his resentment and ill-will for ever; so that in general you will find it safer to tell a man, he is a knave than a fool, — and stand a better chance of being forgiven, for proving he has been wanting in a point of common honesty, than a point of common sense. — Strange souls that we are! as if to live well was not the greatest argument of wisdom; — and, as if what reflected upon our morals, did not most of all reflect upon our understandings!

  SERMON XXVI. P. 207.

  CORPORAL TRIM’S REFLECTIONS ON DEATH.

  MY young master in London is dead! said Obadiah. —

  — A green sattin night-gown of my mother’s, which had been twice scoured, was the first idea which Obadiah’s exclamation brought into Susannah’s head. — Then, quoth Susannah, we must all go into mourning. —

  — O! ‘twill be the death of my poor Mistress, cried Susannah. — my mother’s whole wardrobe followed. — What a procession! her red damask, — her orange-tawny, — her white and yellow-lutestrings, — her brown taffata, — her bone-laced caps, her bed-gowns, — and comfortable underpetticoats, — Not a rag was left behind.— “No, — she will never look up again,” said Susannah.

  We had a fat, foolish scullion — my father, I think, kept her for her simplicity; — she had been all autumn struggling with a dropsy. — He is dead! — said Obadiah, — he is certainly dead! — So am not I, said the foolish scullion.

  — Here is sad news, Trim! cried Susannah, wiping her eyes, as Trim stepp’d into the kitchen, — master Bobby is dead and buried, — the funeral was an interpolation of Susannah’s we shall have all to go into mourning, said Susannah.

  I ho
pe not, said Trim. — You hope not! cried Susannah earnestly. — The mourning ran not in Trim’s head, whatever it did in Susannah’s. — I hope — said Trim, explaining himself, I hope in God the news is not true. I heard the letter read with my own ears, answered Obadiah; Oh! he’s dead, said Susannah — As sure, said the scullion, as I am alive.

  I lament for him from my heart and my soul, said Trim, fetching a sigh. — Poor creature! — poor boy! poor gentleman!

  — He was alive last Whitsuntide, said the coachman. — Whitsuntide! alas! cried Trim, extending his right arm, and falling instantly into the same attitude in which he read the sermon, — what is Whitsuntide, Jonathan, (for that was the coachman’s name), or Shrovetide, or any tide or time past, to this? Are we not here now, continued the Corporal, (striking the end of his stick perpendicularly upon the floor, so as to give an idea of health and stability) — and are we not — (dropping his hat upon the ground) gone! in a moment!— ’Twas infinitely striking! Susannah burst into a flood of tears. — We are not stocks and stones. — Jonathan, Obadiah, the cook-maid, all melted. — The foolish fat scullion herself, who was scouring a fish-kettle upon her knees, was roused with it. — The whole kitchen crouded about the Corporal.