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A short cut to riches is to subtract from our desires.
Books have led some to learning and others to madness.
Five great enemies of peace inhabit with us--avarice, ambition, envy, anger and pride; if these were to be banished, we should infallibly enjoy perpetual peace.
Great errors seldom originate but with men of great minds.
He loves but lightly who his love can tell.
Her walk was like no mortal thing, but shaped after an angel's.
How difficult it is to save the bark of reputation from the rocks of ignorance.
Love is the crowning grace of humanity, the holiest right of the soul, the golden link which binds us to duty and truth, the redeeming principle that chiefly reconciles the heart to life, and is prophetic of eternal good.
Rarely do great beauty and great virtue dwell together.
Sameness is the mother of disgust, variety the cure.
- [Similarity : Variety]
To be able to say how much you love is to love but little.
Virtue is health, vice is sickness.
Where you are is of no moment, but only what you are doing there. It is not the place that ennobles you, but you the place; and this only by doing that which is great and noble.
Who over-refines his argument brings himself to grief.
With sorrow remembering happy times.
[It., Con dolor rimembrando il tempo lieto.]
- Canzone (46) [Sorrow]
Books never pall me. They discourse with us, they take counsel with us, and are united to us by a certain living chatty familiarity. And not only does each book inspire the sense that it belongs to its readers, but it also suggests the name of others, and one begets the desire of the other.
- Letters [Books : Reading]
For style beyond the genius never dares.
[Fr., Che stilo oltra l'ingegno non si stende.]
- Morte di Laura (sonnet 68) [Style]
Behold who ever wept, and in his tears
Was happier far than others in their smiles.
- The Triumph of Eternity! (l. 95),
For virtue only finds eternal Fame.
- The Triumph of Fame (pt. I, l. 183)
For death betimes is comfort, not dismay,
And who can rightly die needs no delay.
- To Laura in Death (canzone V, st. 6)
Thyself no more deceive, thy youth hath fled.
- To Laura in Death (sonnet LXXXII) [Age]
Yon nightingale, whose strain so sweetly flows,
Mourning her ravish'd young or much-loved mate,
A soothing charm o'er all the valleys throws
And skies, with notes well tuned to her and state.
- To Laura in Death (sonnet XLIII)
Oh! could I throw aside these earthly bands
That tie me down where wretched mortals sigh--
To join blest spirits in celestial lands!
- To Laura in Death (sonnet XLV) [Desire]
My soul has rest, sweet sigh! alone in thee.
- To Laura in Death--Sonnet LIV (l. 14)
An equal doom clipp'd Time's blest wings of peace.
- To Laura in Death--Sonnet XLVIII (l. 18)
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