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If you have form'd a circle to go into, Go into it yourself, and see how you would do. They said this mystery never shall cease: The priest promotes war, and the soldier peace.
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I was in a Printing-house in Hell, and saw the method in which knowledge is transmitted from generation to generation.
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Art is the tree of life. Science is the tree of death.
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Improvement makes strait roads, but the crooked roads without Improvement, are roads of Genius.
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The Sick Rose O Rose, thou art sick. The invisible worm That flies in the night In the howling storm Has found out thy bed Of crimson joy, And his dark secret love Does thy life destroy.
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To the eyes of the man of imagination, nature is imagination itself.
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She who dwells with me whom I have loved with such communion, that no place on earth can ever be solitude to me.
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Nature in darkness groans and men are bound to sullen contemplation in the night: restless they turn on beds of sorrow; in their inmost brain feeling the crushing wheels, they rise, they write the bitter words of stern philosophy and knead the bread of knowledge with tears and groans.
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The difference between a bad artist and a good one is: the bad artist seems to copy a great deal; the good one really does.
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O Autumn, laden with fruit, and stained With the blood of the grape, pass not, but sit Beneath my shady roof; there thou may'st rest, And tune thy jolly voice to my fresh pipe; And all the daughters of the year shall dance! Sing now the lusty song of fruit and flowers.
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Lo! now the direful monster, whose skin clings To his strong bones, strides o'er the groaning rocks: He withers all in silence, and his hand Unclothes the earth, and freezes up frail life.
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Mere enthusiasm is the all in all.
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Gratitude is heaven itself; there could be no heaven without gratitude.
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The ruins of time build mansions in eternity.
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Gratitude is heaven itself.
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How do you know but ev’ry Bird that cuts the airy way, Is an immense world of delight, clos’d by your senses five?
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The world of imagination is the world of eternity. It is the divine bosom into which we shall all go after the death of the vegetated [i.e. mortal] body. This world of imagination is infinite and eternal, whereas the world of generation is finite and temporal. There exist in that eternal world the eternal realities of everything which we see reflected in this vegetable glass of nature.
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Great things are done when men and mountains meet.
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Where there is money there is no art.
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Death is terrible, tho' borne on angels' wings!