One's outlook is a part of his virtue.
Love is the key to felicity, nor is there a heaven to any who love not. We enter Paradise through its gates only.
Despair snuffs the sun from the firmament.
Like birds of passage, the instincts drift the soul adventurously beyond the horizon of sensible things, as if intent on convoying it to the mother country from whence it had flown.
First find the man in yourself if you will inspire manliness in others.
A work of real merit finds favor at last.
Our notion of the perfect society embraces the family as its center and ornament, and this paradise is not secure until children appear to animate and complete the picture.
If the ancients left us ideas, to our credit be it spoken that we moderns are building houses for them -- structures which neither Plato nor Archimedes had dreamed possible.
The history of books shows the humblest origin of some of the most valued, wrought as these were out of obscure materials by persons whose names thereafter became illustrious. The thumbed volumes, now so precious to thousands, were compiled from personal experiences and owe their interest to touches of inspiration of which the writer was less author than amanuensis, himself the voiced word of life for all times.
Would Shakespeare and Raleigh have done their best, would that galaxy have shone so bright in the heavens had there been no Elizabeth on the throne?
Nor do we accept, as genuine the person not characterized by this blushing bashfulness, this youthfulness of heart, this sensibility to the sentiment of suavity and self-respect. Modesty is bred of self-reverence. Fine manners are the mantle of fair minds. None are truly great without this ornament.
Modesty is bred of self-reverence. Fine manners are the mantle of fair minds.
One must espouse some pursuit, taking it kindly at heart and with enthusiasm.
An author who sets his reader on sounding the depths of his own thoughts serves him best.
None can teach admirably if not loving his task.
One cannot celebrate books sufficiently. After saying his best, still something better remains to be spoken in their praise. As with friends, one finds new beauties at every interview, and would stay long in the presence of those choice companions. As with friends, he may dispense with a wide acquaintance. Few and choice. The richest minds need not large libraries.
One must be rich in thought and character to owe nothing to books, though preparation is necessary to profitable reading; and the less reading is better than more;--book-struck men are of all readers least wise, however knowing or learned.
Education may work wonders as well in warping the genius of individuals as in seconding it.
Nature is thought immersed in matter. . .
A man defines his standing at the court of chastity by his views of women.
Pleasure, that immortal essence, the beauteous bead sparkling in the cup, effervesces soon and subsides.
Ideas in the head set hands about their several tasks.
The fable runs that the gods mix our pains and pleasure in one cup, and thus mingle for us the adulterate immortality which we alone are permitted here to enjoy. Voluptuous raptures, could we prolong these at pleasure, would dissipate and dissolve us. A sip is the most that mortals are permitted from any goblet of delight.
Who loves a garden, still his Eden keeps, Perennial pleasures plants, and wholesome harvests reaps.
Every sin provokes its punishment.
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