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.
In those vernal seasons of the year when the air is calm and pleasant, it were an injury and sullenness against nature not to go out and see her riches, and partake in her rejoicing with heaven and earth.
Sweet is the breath of morn, her rising sweet, With charm of earliest birds.
The great creator from his work returned Magnificent, his six days' work, a world.
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.
Where peace And rest can never dwell, hope never comes, That comes to all.
In argument with men a woman ever Goes by the worse, whatever be her cause.
A limbo large and broad, since call'd The Paradise of Fools to few unknown.
Antichrist is Mammon's son.
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.
For evil news rides post, while good news baits.
Joking decides great things, Stronger and better oft than earnest can.
I will not deny but that the best apology against false accusers is silence and sufferance, and honest deeds set against dishonest words.
My sentence is for open war.
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.
O fleeting joys Of Paradise, dear bought with lasting woes!
Virtue that wavers is not virtue, but vice revolted from itself, and after a while returning. The actions of just and pious men do not darken in their middle course.
Ink is the blood of the printing-press.
Athens, the eye of Greece, mother of arts And eloquence.
Law can discover sin, but not remove, Save by those shadowy expiations weak.
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