Curious to think how, for every man, any the truest fact is modelled by the nature of the man. Carlyle.
Currente calamo—With a running pen.
Cursed be the social ties that warp us from 50 the living truth. Tennyson.
Curse on all laws but those which love has made. Pope.
Curses always recoil on the head of him who imprecates them. If you put a chain around the neck of a slave, the other end fastens itself around your own. Emerson.
Curses are like chickens; they always return home. Pr.
Curses, not loud, but deep, mouth-honour, breath, / Which the poor heart would fain deny, but dare not. Macb., v. 3.
Curst be the man, the poorest wretch in life, / The crouching vassal to the tyrant wife, / Who has no will but by her high permission; / Who has not sixpence but in her possession; / Who must to her his dear friend's secret tell; / Who dreads a curtain lecture worse than hell. / Were such the wife had fallen to my part, / I'd break her spirit or I'd break her heart. Burns.
Curst be the verse, how well soe'er it flow, / That tends to make one worthy man my foe, / Give virtue scandal, innocence a fear, / Or from the soft-ey'd virgin steal a tear. Pope.
Curs'd merchandise, where life is sold, / And avarice consents to starve for gold. Rowe from Lucan.