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He is at no end of his actions blestWhose ends will make him greatest, and not best.
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I will neither yield to the song of the siren nor the voice of the hyena, the tears of the crocodile nor the howling of the wolf.
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There is no danger to the man that knowsWhat life and death is; there's not any lawExceeds his knowledge; neither is it lawfulThat he should stoop to any other law.He goes before them, and commands them all,That to himself is a law rational.
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Cornelia. What flowers are these?Gazetta. The pansy this.Cor. Oh, that's for lover's thoughts.
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Young men think old men are fools; but old men know young men are fools.
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Mourne not inevitable things; thy teares can spring no deedsTo helpe thee, nor recall thy sonne: impacience ever breedsIll upon ill, makes worst things worse.
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This was a sleight well mask'd. O, what is man,Unless he be a Politician?
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Let pride go afore, shame will follow after.
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Love is a golden bubble, full of dreams,That waking breaks, and fills us with extremes.
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What man can blameThe Greekes and Trojans to endure, for so admired a Dame,So many miseries, and so long? In her sweet countenance shineLookes like the Godesses.
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Virtue is not malicious; wrong done herIs righted even when men grant they err.
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How blinde is pride! what eagles we are stillIn matters that belong to other men,What beetles in our own!
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I love vintage and prints.
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Obscuritie in affection of words, & indigested concets, is pedanticall and childish...
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Each natural agent works but to this end,-To render that it works on like itself.
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Who to himself is law no law doth need,Offends no law, and is a king indeed.
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Poetry, unlike oratory, should not aim at clarity... but be dense with meaning, 'something to be chewed and digested'...
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As night the life-inclining stars best shows,So lives obscure the starriest souls disclose.
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Man is a torch borne in the wind; a dreamBut of a shadow, summ'd with all his substance.
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For one heat, all know, doth drive out another,One passion doth expel another still.