Every language is so full of its own proprieties that what is beautiful in one is often barbarous, nay, sometimes nonsense, in another.
While I am compassed round With mirth, my soul lies hid in shades of grief, Whence, like the bird of night, with half-shut eyes, She peeps, and sickens at the sight of day.
Imagining is in itself the very height and life of poetry, which, by a kind of enthusiasm or extraordinary emotion of the soul, makes it seem to us that we behold those things which the poet paints.
Presence of mind and courage in distress, Are more than arrives to procure success?
Courage from hearts and not from numbers grows.
Beauty, like ice, our footing does betray; Who can tread sure on the smooth, slippery way: Pleased with the surface, we glide swiftly on, And see the dangers that we cannot shun.
Our souls sit close and silently within, And their own web from their own entrails spin; And when eyes meet far off, our sense is such, That, spider-like, we feel the tenderest touch.
Let grace and goodness be the principal loadstone of thy affections. For love which hath ends, will have an end; whereas that which is founded on true virtue, will always continue.
Riches cannot rescue from the grave, which claims alike the monarch and the slave.
Forgiveness to the injured does belong; but they ne'er pardon who have done wrong.
And love's the noblest frailty of the mind.
Sure there's contagion in the tears of friends.
Reason is a crutch for age, but youth is strong enough to walk alone.
When I consider life, 'tis all a cheat; Yet, fooled with hope, men favour the deceit; Trust on, and think tomorrow will repay. Tomorrow's falser than the former day.
I am as free as nature first made man, Ere the base laws of servitude began, When wild in woods the noble savage ran.
Few know the use of life before 'tis past.
Mighty things from small beginnings grow.
Boldness is a mask for fear, however great.
Death in itself is nothing; but we fear to be we know not what, we know not where.
Love is love's reward.
Desire of greatness is a godlike sin.
But love's a malady without a cure.
A narrow mind begets obstinacy; we do not easily believe what we cannot see.
More liberty begets desire of more; The hunger still increases with the store
Here lies my wife: here let her lie! Now she's at rest, and so am I.
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