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A mighty pain to love it is,
And 'tis a pain that pain to miss;
But, of all pains, the greatest pain
Is to love, but love in vain.
- translation of "Anacreontic Odes", VII, Gold
Ah! wretched and too solitary he who loves not his own company!
All the world's bravery that delights our eyes is but thy several liveries.
All this world's noise appears to me a dull, ill-acted comedy!
As for being much known by sight, and pointed out, I cannot comprehend the honor that lies withal; whatsoever it be, every mountebank has it more than the best doctor.
But what is woman? Only one of nature's agreeable blunders.
Come, my best friends, my books! and lead me on.
Curiosity does, no less than devotion, pilgrims make.
Curs'd be that wretch (Death's factor sure) who brought
Dire swords into the peaceful world, and taught
Smiths (who before could only make
The spade, the plough-share, and the rake)
Arts, in most cruel wise
Man's left to epitomize!
- in commendation of the time we live under, the reign of Charles II
Does not the passage of Moses and the Israelites into the Holy Land yield incomparably more poetic variety than the voyages of Ulysses or Aeneas?
God the first garden made, and the first city Cain.
- [Gardens : Proverbs]
He loves his old hereditary trees.
Here tears and sighs speak his imperfect moan,
In language far more moving than his own.
Hope! fortune's cheating lottery; when for one prize an hundred blanks there be!
It is a hard and nice subject for a man to speak of himself: it grates his own heart to say anything of disparagement, and the reader's ear to hear anything of praise from him.
Man is too near all kinds of beasts,--a fawning dog, a roaring lion, a thieving fox, a robbing wolf, a dissembling crocodile, a treacherous decoy, and a rapacious vulture.
Much will always wanting be
To him who much desires.
Neither the praise nor the blame is our own.
Our yesterday's to-morrow now is gone,
And still a new to-morrow does come on.
We by to-morrow draw out all our store,
Till the exhausted well can yield no more.
Poverty wants some, luxury many, and avarice all things.
Shines upon all men with impartial light.
Sire of repentance, child of fond desire!
Solitude can be well applied and sit right upon but very few persons. They must have knowledge enough of the world to see the follies of it, and virtue enough to despise all vanity.
Teeth, like falling snow
For white, were placed in a double row.
Th' adorning thee with so much art
Is but a barbarous skill;
'Tis like the poisoning of a dart,
Too apt before to kill.
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