Only nature knows how to justly proportion to
the fault the punishment it deserves.
The more we study the more we discover our
ignorance.
Our sweetest songs are those that tell of saddest thought.
Fear not for the future,weep not for the past.
History is a cyclic poem written by time upon the memories of man.
Man's yesterday may never be like his morrow;
Nought may endure but Mutability.
A poet is a nightingale,who sits in darkness and sings to cheer its own solitude with sweet sounds.
Reason is to imagination as the instrument to the
agent,as the body to the spirit,as the shadow to the
substance.
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