Swinish gluttony never looks to heaven amidst its gorgeous feast; but with besotted, base ingratitude, cravens and blasphemes his feeder.
My sentence is for open war.
Love Virtue, she alone is free, She can teach ye how to climb Higher than the sphery chime; Or, if Virtue feeble were, Heav'n itself would stoop to her.
As therefore the state of man now is, what wisdom can there be to choose, what continence to forbear, without the knowledge of good and evil?
He scarce had ceased when the superior fiend Was moving toward the shore; his ponderous shield Ethereal temper, massy, large and round, Behind him cast; the broad circumference Hung on his shoulders like the moon, whose orb Through optic glass the Tuscan artist views At evening from the top of Fésolè, Or in Valdarno, to descry new lands, Rivers or mountains in her spotty globe.
Sweet is the breath of morn, her rising sweet, With charm of earliest birds.
He who freely magnifies what hath been nobly done, and fears not to declares as freely what might be done better, gives ye the best covenant of his fidelity.
The great creator from his work returned Magnificent, his six days' work, a world.
And if by prayer Incessant I could hope to change the will Of Him who all things can, I would not cease To weary Him with my assiduous cries.
Where peace And rest can never dwell, hope never comes, That comes to all.
Antichrist is Mammon's son.
Our torments also may in length of time Become our elements, these piercing fires As soft as now severe, our temper changed Into their temper.
A limbo large and broad, since call'd The Paradise of Fools to few unknown.
For evil news rides post, while good news baits.
I will not deny but that the best apology against false accusers is silence and sufferance, and honest deeds set against dishonest words.
Joking decides great things, Stronger and better oft than earnest can.
In argument with men a woman ever Goes by the worse, whatever be her cause.
Here the great art lies, to discern in what the law is to be to restraint and punishment, and in what things persuasion only is to work.
Who can enjoy alone? Or all enjoying what contentment find?
See golden days, fruitful of golden deeds, With joy and love triumphing.
In God's intention, a meet and happy conversation is the chiefest and noblest end of marriage.
Our two first parents, yet the only two Of mankind, in the happy garden placed, Reaping immortal fruits of joy and love, Uninterrupted joy, unrivalled love In blissful solitude.
Ink is the blood of the printing-press.
Athens, the eye of Greece, mother of arts And eloquence.
Come to the sunset tree! The day is past and gone; The woodman's axe lies free, And the reaper's work is done.
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