Hoyt & Roberts, comps. Hoyt’s New Cyclopedia of Practical Quotations. 1922.
Fancy
Some things are of that nature as to make
One’s fancy chuckle, while his heart doth ache.
Bunyan—Pilgrim’s Progress. The Author’s Way of Sending Forth his Second Part of the Pilgrim. Pt. II.
While fancy, like the finger of a clock,
Runs the great circuit, and is still at home.
Cowper—The Task. Bk. IV. L. 118.
Ever let the Fancy roam,
Pleasure never is at home.
Keats—Fancy.
The truant Fancy was a wanderer ever.
Lamb—Fancy employed on Divine Subjects. I. 1.
Sentiment is intellectualized emotion, emotion precipitated, as it were, in pretty crystals by the fancy.
Lowell—Among My Books. Rousseau and the Sentimentalists.
Two meanings have our lightest fantasies,
One of the flesh, and of the spirit one.
Lowell—Sonnet XXXIV. Ed. 1844.
She’s all my fancy painted her,
She’s lovely, she’s divine.
Wm. Mee—Alice Gray.
When at the close of each sad, sorrowing day,
Fancy restores what vengeance snatch’d away.
Pope—Eloisa to Abelard. L. 225.
The difference is as great between
The optics seeing as the objects seen.
All manners take a tincture from our own;
Or come discolor’d through our passions shown;
Or fancy’s beam enlarges, multiplies,
Contracts, inverts, and gives ten thousand dyes.
Pope—Moral Essays. Ep. 1. L. 31.
Woe to the youth whom Fancy gains,
Winning from Reason’s hand the reins,
Pity and woe! for such a mind
Is soft, contemplative, and kind.
Scott—Rokeby. Canto I. St. 31.
Pacing through the forest,
Chewing the food of sweet and bitter fancy.
As You Like It. Act IV. Sc. 3. L. 101.
Tell me where is fancy bred,
Or in the heart or in the head?
How begot, how nourished?
Reply, reply.
It is engender’d in the eyes,
With gazing fed; and fancy dies
In the cradle where it lies.
Merchant of Venice. Act III. Sc. 2. L. 63.
So full of shapes is fancy,
That it alone is high fantastical.
Twelfth Night. Act I. Sc. 1. L. 14.
Let fancy still my sense in Lethe steep;
If it be thus to dream, still let me sleep!
Twelfth Night. Act IV. Sc. 1. L. 66.
We figure to ourselves
The thing we like, and then we build it up
As chance will have it, on the rock or sand:
For Thought is tired of wandering o’er the world,
And homebound Fancy runs her bark ashore.
Sir Henry Taylor—Philip Van Artevelde. Pt. I. Act I. Sc. 5.
Fancy light from Fancy caught.
Tennyson—In Memoriam. Pt. XXIII.
Sad fancies do we then affect,
In luxury of disrespect
To our own prodigal excess
Of too familiar happiness.
Wordsworth—Ode to Lycoris.