The mind is its own place and in itself, can make a Heaven of Hell, a Hell of Heaven.
He who reigns within himself and rules passions, desires, and fears is more than a king.
For man he seemsIn all his lineaments, though in his faceThe glimpses of his Fathers glory shine.
None can love freedom heartily, but good men... the rest love not freedom, but license.
Truth is as impossible to be soiled by any outward touch as the sunbeam
They are the troublers, they are the dividers of unity, who neglect and don't permit others to unite those dissevered pieces which are yet wanting to the body of Truth.
Meadows trim, with daisies pied, Shallow brooks, and rivers wide; Towers and balements it sees Bosomed high in tufted trees, Where perhaps some beauty lies, The cynosure of neighboring eyes.
Beauty is Nature's coin, must not be hoarded, but must be current.
He who thinks we are to pitch our tent here, and have attained the utmost prospect of reformation that the mortal glass wherein we contemplate can show us, till we come to beatific vision, that man by this very opinion declares that he is yet far short of truth.
By this time, like one who had set out on his way by night, and travelled through a region of smooth or idle dreams, our history now arrives on the confines, where daylight and truth meet us with a clear dawn, representing to our view, though at a far distance, true colours and shapes.
Yet he who reigns within himself, and rulesPassions, desires, and fears, is more a king.
Henceforth an individual solace dear; Part of my Soul I seek thee, and thee claim My other half: with that thy gentle hand Seisd mine, I yielded, and from that time see How beauty is excelld by manly grace.
Avenge, O Lord, thy slaughtered saints, whose bones Lie scattered on the Alpine mountains cold; Ev'n them who kept thy truth so pure of old When all our fathers worshipped stocks and stones Forget not.
So dear I love him that with him all deaths I could endure, without him live no life.
Truth...never comes into the world but like a bastard, to the ignominy of him that brought her forth.
And looks commercing with the skies,Thy rapt soul sitting in thine eyes.
Beauty is Nature's brag, and must be shown In courts, at feasts, and high solemnities, Where most may wonder at the workmanship; It is for homely features to keep home
The power of Kings and Magistrates is nothing else, but what is only derivative, transferrd and committed to them in trust from the People, to the Common good of them all, in whom the power yet remaines fundamentally, and cannot be takn from them, without a violation of thir natural birthright.
He that has light within his own cleer brestMay sit ith center, and enjoy bright day,But he that hides a dark soul, and foul thoughtsBenighted walks under the mid-day Sun;Himself is his own dungeon.
How gladly would I meet mortality, my sentence, and be earth in sensible! how glad would lay me down, as in my mother's lap! There I should rest, and sleep secure.
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