Beauty is nature's brag, and must be shown in courts, at feasts, and high solemnities, where most may wonder at the workmanship.
A good book is the precious lifeblood of a master spirit, embalmed and treasured up on purpose to a life beyond life.
He that has light within his own clear breast May sit in the centre, and enjoy bright day: But he that hides a dark soul and foul thoughts Benighted walks under the mid-day sun; Himself his own dungeon.
Confusion heard his voice, and wild uproar Stood ruled, stood vast infinitude confined; Till at his second bidding darkness fled, Light shone, and order from disorder sprung.
Though we take from a covetous man all his treasure, he has yet one jewel left; you cannot bereave him of his covetousness.