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The dome of thought, the palace of the soul.
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I slept and dreamt that life was beauty; I woke and found that life was duty.
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Constancy... that small change of love, which people exact so rigidly, receive in such counterfeit coin, and repay in baser metal.
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The thorns which I have reap'd are of the tree I planted; they have torn me, and I bleed. I should have known what fruit would spring from such a seed.
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While Franklin's quiet memory climbs to heaven,Calming the lightning which he thence hath riven,Or drawing from the no less kindled earthFreedom and peace to that which boasts his birth;While Washington's a watchword, such as ne'erShall sink while there's an echo left to air.
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A pretty woman is a welcome guest.
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Bread has been made (indifferent) from potatoes; And galvanism has set some corpses grinning, But has not answer'd like the apparatus Of the Humane Society's beginning, By which men are unsuffocated gratis: What wondrous new machines have late been spinning.
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Where is he, the champion and the childOf all that's great or little, wise or wild;Whose game was empires, and whose stakes were thrones;Whose table earth - whose dice were human bones?
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I am as comfortless as a pilgrim with peas in his shoes - and as cold as Charity, Chastity or any other Virtue.
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Muse of the many twinkling feet, whose charms are now extending up from legs to arms.
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Her great merit is finding out mine; there is nothing so amiable as discernment.
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Such is the aspect of this shore;'T is Greece, but living Greece no more!So coldly sweet, so deadly fair,We start, for soul is wanting there.
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Physicians mend or end us, Secundum artem; but although we sneer - In health - when ill we call them to attend us, Without the least propensity to jeer.
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The blind old man of Scio's rocky isle.
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O'er the glad waters of the dark blue sea,Our thoughts as boundless, and our souls as free,Far as the breeze can bear, the billows foam, 22Survey our empire, and behold our home!These are our realms, no limit to their sway,-Our flag the sceptre all who meet obey.
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Since Eve ate the apple, much depends on dinner.
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Be thou the rainbow in the storms of life. The evening beam that smiles the clouds away, and tints tomorrow with prophetic ray.
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This is the patent age of new inventions for killing bodies, and for saving souls. All propagated with the best intentions.
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He who hath bent him o'er the deadEre the first day of death is fled,-The first dark day of nothingness,The last of danger and distress,Before decay's effacing fingersHave swept the lines where beauty lingers.
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When age chills the blood, when our pleasures are past-For years fleet away with the wings of the dove- The dearest remembrance will still be the last,Our sweetest memorial the first kiss of love.
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So for a good old-gentlemanly vice, I think I must take up with avarice.
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Bologna is celebrated for producing popes, painters, and sausage.
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My boat is on the shore,And my bark is on the sea;But, before I go, Tom Moore.Here's a double health to thee!
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I can't but say it is an awkward sight To see one's native land receding through The growing waters; it unmans one quite, Especially when life is rather new.