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The fox condemns the trap, not himself.
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But most thro' midnight streets I hear How the youthful Harlots curse Blasts the new-born Infants tear And blights with plagues the Marriage hearse
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Joys impregnate. Sorrows bring forth.
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My Brother starv'd between two Walls, His Children's Cry my Soul appalls.
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The eagle never lost so much time as when he submitted to learn of the crow.
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Error is created; truth is eternal.
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To create a little flower is the labour of ages.
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Everything is beautiful in its own way. Exuberance is beauty.
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He who does not imagine in stronger and better lineaments, and in stronger and better light than his perishing and mortal eye can see, does not imagine at all.
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When a Man has Married a Wife He finds out whether Her Knees & elbows are onlyglued together.
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When Sir Joshua Reynolds died All Nature was degraded; The King dropped a tear in the Queen's ear, And all his pictures faded.
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When I tell the truth, it is not for the sake of convincing those who do not know it, but for the sake of defending those that do.
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Eternity is in love with the productions of time.
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To generalize is to be an idiot.
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Work up imagination to the state of vision.
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A skylark wounded in the wing, / A cherubim does cease to sing.
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Praises reap not! Joys laugh not! Sorrows weep not!
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But when he has done this, let him not say that he knows better than his master, for he only holds a candle in sunshine.
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Piping down the valleys wild, Piping songs of pleasant glee, On a cloud I saw a child, And he laughing said to me: "Pipe a song about a Lamb." So I piped with merry cheer; "Piper, pipe that song again." So I piped; he wept to hear.
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It is easier to forgive an enemy than to forgive a friend.
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There is a place where Contrarieties are equally True.
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It is the greatest of crimes to depress true art and science.
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The spirits of the air live on the smells Of fruit; and joy, with pinions light, roves round The gardens, or sits singing in the trees.
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THE POISON TREE I was angry with my friend: I told my wrath, my wrath did end. I was angry with my foe; I told it not, my wrath did grow. And I water'd it in fears, Night & morning with my tears; And I sunned it with my smiles And with soft deceitful wiles. And it grew both day and night, Till it bore an apple bright; And my foe beheld it shine, And he knew that it was mine, And into my garden stole When the night had veil'd the pole: In the morning glad I see My foe outstretch'd beneath the tree.