Be thou familiar, but by no means vulgar.
And sweets grown common lose their dear delight.
Staled by frequence, shrunk by usage into commonest commonplace!
FAMILY (See Home)
FANCY
Some things are of that nature as to make
One's fancy chuckle, while his heart doth ache.
While fancy, like the finger of a clock,
Runs the great circuit, and is still at home.
Ever let the Fancy roam,
Pleasure never is at home.
The truant Fancy was a wanderer ever.
Sentiment is intellectualized emotion, emotion precipitated, as it were, in pretty crystals by the fancy.
Two meanings have our lightest fantasies,
One of the flesh, and of the spirit one.
She's all my fancy painted her,
She's lovely, she's divine.
When at the close of each sad, sorrowing day,
Fancy restores what vengeance snatch'd away.
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.
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.
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.
Let fancy still my sense in Lethe steep;
If it be thus to dream, still let me sleep!
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.
Fancy light from Fancy caught.
Sad fancies do we then affect,
In luxury of disrespect
To our own prodigal excess
Of too familiar happiness.
Wordsworth—Ode to Lycoris.
FAREWELL
| seealso = (See also {{sc|Parting)
He turn'd him right and round about
Upon the Irish shore,
And gae his bridle reins a shake,
With Adieu for evermore,
My dear,
With Adieu for evermore.
Burns—It Was a' for our Rightfu' King. Used
and altered by Scott in Rokeby and Monastery.
Farewell! a word that must be, and hath been—
A sound which makes us linger;—yet—farewell!
Byron—Childe Harold. Canto IV. St. 186.
"Farewell!"
For in that word—that fatal word—howe'er
We promise—hope—believe—there breathes despair.
Fare thee well! and if for ever,
Still for ever, fare thee well.
"Adieu,"' she cries, and waved her lily hand.
Friend, ahoy! Farewell! farewell!
Grief unto grief, joy unto joy,
Greeting and help the echoes tell
Faint, but eternal—Friend, ahoy!
