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Wherefore did he [God] create passions within us, pleasures round about us, but that these rightly tempered are the very ingredients of virtue?
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Cyriack, whose Grandsire on the Royal BenchOf British Themis, with no mean applausePronounced and in his volumes taught our Laws,Which others at their Bar so often wrench
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The end of learning is to know God, and out of that knowledge to love Him and imitate Him.
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God has set labor and rest, as day and night to men successive.
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And out of good still to find means of evil.
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O fairest flower! no sooner blown but blasted,Soft silken primrose fading timelessly.
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And feel that I am happier than I know.
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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?
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Who can enjoy alone? Or all enjoying what contentment find?
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Heaven is for thee too high To know what passes there; be lowly wise. Think only what concerns thee and thy being; Dream not of other worlds, what creatures there Live, in what state, condition, or degree, Contented that thus far hath been revealed.
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Servant of God, well done! well hast thou fought The better fight, who single hast maintain'd Against revolted multitudes the cause of truth.
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Blest pair of Sirens, pledges of Heaven's joy,
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For so I created them free and free they must remain.
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But oh the heavy change, now thou art gone, Now thou art gone and never must return!
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Fairest of stars, last in the train of night, If better thou belong not to the dawn.
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The sun to me is dark And silent as the moon, When she deserts the night Hid in her vacant interlunar cave.
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Assuredly we bring not innocence not the world, we bring impurity much rather: that which purifies us is trial, and trial is by what is contrary.
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Come and trip it as ye go On the light fantastic toe.
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My sentence is for open war.
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A limbo large and broad, since call'd The Paradise of Fools to few unknown.
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Now I see Peace to corrupt no less than war to waste.
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Yet once more, O ye laurels, and once moreYe myrtles brown, with ivy never sere,I come to pluck your berries harsh and crude,And with forced fingers rudeShatter your leaves before the mellowing year.
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We shall sooner have the fowl by hatching the egg than by smashing it. Abraham Lincoln, White House speech 11 April 1865. Or arm th' obdured breast With stubborn patience as with triple steel.
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Wild above rule or art, enormous bliss.