How great love is, presence best trial makes, But absence tries how long this love will be.
We love and understand talent; we wish it be within us. The truly gifted, those exceptional few, must wait for the world to catch up.
Nature's great masterpiece, an elephant; the only harmless great thing.
For God's sake hold your tongue, and let me love.
Poor intricated soul! Riddling, perplexed, labyrinthical soul!
Our two souls therefore which are one, Though I must go, endure not yet A breach, but an expansion, Like gold to airy thinness beat.
Doth not a man die even in his birth? The breaking of prison is death, and what is our birth, but a breaking of prison?
God affords no man the comfort, the false comfort of Atheism: He will not allow a pretending Atheist the power to flatter himself, so far, as to seriously think there is no God.
Men perish with whispering sins-nay, with silent sins, sins that never tell the conscience that they are sins, as often with crying sins; and in hell there shall meet as many men that never thought what was sin, as that spent all their thoughts in the compassing of sin.
Wicked is not much worse than indiscreet.
To rage, to lust, to write to, to commend, All is the purlieu of the god of love.
Now God comes to thee, not as in the dawning of the day, not as in the bud of the spring, but as the sun at noon to illustrate all shadows, as the sheaves in harvest, to fill all penuries, all occasions invite his mercies, and all times are his seasons.
The sun must not set upon anger, much less will I let the sun set upon the anger of God towards me.
Our two souls therefore, which are one, Though I must go, endure not yet A breach, but an expansion, Like gold to airy thinness beat. If they be two, they are two so As stiff twin compasses are two; Thy soul, the fixed foot, makes no show To move, but doth if th' other do. And though it in the center sit, Yet when the other far doth roam, It leans and hearkens after it, And grows erect, as that comes home. Suth wilt thou be to me, who must Like th' other foot, obliquely run; Thy firmness makes my circle just, And makes me end where I began.
Poetry is a counterfeit creation, and makes things that are not, as though they were
Commemoration of Pandita Mary Ramabai, Translator of the Scriptures, 1922 A memory of yesterday's pleasures, a fear of tomorrow's dangers, a straw under my knees, a noise in my ear, a light in my eye, an anything, a nothing, a fancy, a chimera in my brain, troubles me in my prayers.
As states subsist in part by keeping their weaknesses from being known, so is it the quiet of families to have their chancery and their parliament within doors, and to compose and determine all emergent differences there.
If ever any beauty I did see, Which I desired, and got, 'twas but a dream of thee.
All occasions invite His mercies, and all times are His seasons.
When my mouth shall be filled with dust, and the worm shall feed, and feed sweetly upon me, when the ambitious man shall have no satisfaction if the poorest alive tread upon him, nor the poorest receive any contentment in being made equal to princes, for they shall be equal but in dust.
And what is so intricate, so entangling as death? Who ever got out of a winding sheet?
Poor heretics there be,Which think to establish dangerous constancy,But I have told them, ‘Since you will be true,You shall be true to them, who are false to you.
I have done one braver thing than all the Worthies did, and yet a braver thence doth spring, which is, to keep that hid.
Great sorrows cannot speak.
Who knows his virtues name or place, hath none.
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