Epic poets

"In quella parte del libro de la mia memoria, dinanzi a la quale poco si potrebbe leggere, si trova una rubrica, la quale dice: Incipit vita nova."

"Ecce deus fortior me, qui veniens dominabitur mihi."

"ne le braccia avea madonna involta in un drappo dormendo. Poi la svegliava, e d'esto core ardendo lei paventosa umilmente pascea: appresso gir lo ne vedea piangendo."

"Ella è quanto de ben pò far natura; per essemplo di lei bieltà si prova."

"Amore e 'l cor gentil sono una cosa... e così esser l'un sanza l'altro osa com'alma razional sanza ragione."

"Sì lungiamente m'ha tenuto Amore e costumato a la sua segnoria"

"Amor che ne la mente mi ragiona de la mia donna disiosamente... che lo 'ntelletto sovr'esse disvia."

"La moralitade è bellezza de la filosofia."

"Nam in omni actione principaliter intenditur ab agente, sive necessitate naturae, sive voluntarie agat, propriam similitudinem explicare, unde fit, quod omne agens, in quantum huiusmodi, delectatur; quia, quum omne quod est appetat suum esse, ac in agendo agentis esse quodammodo amplietur, sequiturde necessitate delectatio... Nihil igitur agit, nisi tale existens, quale patiens fieri debet..."

"Hiis visis, manifestum est quod duplex oportet esse subiectum circa quod currant alterni sensus. Et ideo videndum est de subiecto huius operis, prout ad litteram accipitur; deinde de subiecto, prout allegorice sententiatur. Est ergo subiectum totius operis, litteraliter tantum accepti, status animarum post mortem simpliciter sumptus. Nam de illo et circa illum totius operis versatur processus. Si vero accipiatur opus allegorice, subiectum est homo, prout merendo et demerendo per arbitrii libertatem iustitie premiandi et puniendi obnoxius est."

"Genus vero philosophie, sub quo hic in toto et parte proceditur, est morale negotium, sive ethica; quia non ad speculandum, sed ad opus inventum est totum et pars."

"Nel mezzo del cammin di nostra vita, mi ritrovai per una selva oscura, ché la diritta via era smarrita."

"Lasciate ogni speranza, voi ch'entrate."

"E 'n la sua volontade è nostra pace."

"Nel suo profondo vidi che s'interna, legato con amore in un volume, ciò che per l'universo si squaderna."

"The hottest places in hell are reserved for those who in times of great moral crisis maintain their neutrality."

"And you, beloved children, whose lot it is to promote learning under the magisterium of the Church, continue as you are doing to love and tend the noble poet whom We do not hesitate to call the most eloquent singer of the Christian idea."

"Dante's relationship with women is very complex, because the range of real women in Dante's life and in Dante Alighieri's imagined life is very different. There is an idealization of women that occurs when he is nine years old. He lost his real mother when he was five years old, so he is the son of a father and a stepmother. The neighbors of the Portinari family had six daughters and one of these is Beatrice, a nine-year-old girl, his age. Dante meets her gaze and from that moment he becomes almost a prisoner of that gaze, which is why nine is Beatrice's magic number, because he meets her at nine years old. The Poet follows her to Florence for another nine years, without ever receiving encouragement from her, until at eighteen, before entering the church where the girl goes every evening in Santa Margherita dei Cerchi which is the Portinari church, suddenly she decides to stop, look at him, smile at him, and says "I greet you" which is the only phrase Dante will hear from Beatrice. Dante remains completely satisfied by this smile and considers it the sealing of a relationship that has had no other type of concretization, nothing else, just this look and this greeting. He tells this story in this wonderful diary which is the Vita Nova, a set of poems and prose writings that he wrote in the aftermath of Beatrice's death."

"Christianity has an admirable example of the natural union between faith and freedom in Dante Alighieri. Precisely his undoubted adherence to Catholic truth allows and illuminates his perfect autonomy of judgement, free from any fear or human conditioning. Dante is not afraid to criticize the work of the popes and their operational choices, to the point of placing several of them in the depths of hell. But in him "the reverence of the supreme keys" never diminishes and never diminishes in the slightest (Inf. XIX, 101). When it comes to expressing reservations or criticisms that he considers due, there are no discounts neither for lay people, nor for ecclesiastics, nor for monarchs, nor for ordinary citizens... all of whom are required, without exception, to abide by the law evangelical."

"Dante does not come before us as a large catholic mind; rather as a narrow, and even sectarian mind: it is partly the fruit of his age and position, but partly too of his own nature. His greatness has, in all senses, concentred itself into fiery emphasis and depth. He is world-great not because he is world-wide, but because he is world-deep. Through all objects he pierces as it were down into the heart of Being. I know nothing so intense as Dante."

"Redeth the grete poete of Itaille, That highte Dant, for he can al devyse Fro point to point, nat o word wol he faille."

"I wanted my illustrations for the Dante to be like the faint markings of moisture in a divine cheese. This explains their variegated aspect of butterflies' wings. Mysticism is cheese; Christ is cheese, better still, mountains of cheese!"

"Gilson criticizes attempts to trace Dante's position back to Thomism or Averroism. For St. Thomas, every hierarchy of dignity is at the same time a hierarchy of jurisdiction, while for Dante—except for God—a hierarchy of dignity is never the foundation of a hierarchy of jurisdiction, and this corresponds to Dante's specific philosophical problem, which is not so much to define the essence of philosophy as to determine functions and jurisdictions. The principle governing this determination is absolutely irreconcilable with Thomism. St. Thomas knows only one ultimate end: eternal bliss, which can only be attained through the Church; moreover, the spirituality of the ultimate end implies that between temporal and spiritual power there is a hierarchical subordination of the means to the end. For Dante, on the other hand, man can obtain, through the exercise of political virtues, a human happiness completely distinct from heavenly bliss, even if the latter represents a higher end. The thesis of the “duo ultima” legitimizes the complete distinction between the political order and the religious order, which is equally universal to that of the Church, but autonomous and pursuing an end of earthly happiness."

"For us Anishinaabe, Biskaabiiyang is a specific term that means “returning to the woods,” because we’re woodland peoples. For example, I grew up growing my “three sisters”—that is, corn, beans, and squash—along the edge of the forest, using what people now call sylvan culture or permaculture. It’s curious how this counters the perspective of classical authors like Dante in early modern Europe or, later, Edmund Spenser, an important Renaissance poet, who view the woods as this terrifying presence. Why is this decolonizing? Because through boarding schools and many other colonial experiences, that fear of the woods creeps in."

"Dante and Shakespeare divide the modern world between them; there is no third."

"Dante as a poet performs miracles in some of the openings of his lyrics or some of his verses in the Commedia. In an age of convention and formalism he went to Virgil to school; in an age when nothing gave reason to hope for the appearance of a masterpiece of form and structure, he produced such a masterpiece. His creative work is immensely superior in merit to his theorizing, but even these show how, in spite of the limitations of contemporary philosophy and rhetoric he was able to slip through the meshes of the network which encircled him, and to bring the vernacular poetry of Italy, when it was still in its infancy, to heights of perfection and finish that have seldom been equalled and never surpassed."

"I would like to add my voice to those who consider Dante Alighieri an artist of the greatest universal esteem, who through his immortal works still has much to say and offer to those who desire to travel the way to true knowledge, to the authentic discovery of self, of the world, of life's profound and transcendent meaning. ... The Comedy can be read as a great itinerary, rather as a true pilgrimage, both personal and interior, as well as communal, ecclesial, social and historic. ... Dante is...a prophet of hope, a herald of humanity's possible redemption and liberation, of profound change in every man and woman, of all of humanity."

"Dante was the first to sing of heaven and of hell, not as the dreams of mythological fiction, but as the objects of a real faith. He was the first who lanched from this promontory on which we stand, into the vast immensity of the universe, traversed the abyss amidst demons and infernal tortures, and mounting afterwards through angelic hosts and undiscovered worlds, gazed with stedfast eye upon the glories of the Highest... Dante was the Columbus who discovered this new world of poesy... Dante probably surpassed even Homer himself."

"Dante's corpus as a whole is in certain respects like a testament to the closing medieval age; it shows what the Western world would have been had it not broken from its tradition."

"If instilling the fear of hell is a form of “child abuse” perhaps Dante’s “Comedy,” with its graphic depictions of hell, should be forbidden to minors in Japan, and Japanese travel agents should not take families with minors to the famous Medieval Cemetery of or to countless European cathedrals whose frescos or paintings show how devils will torment the sinners in the afterlife (Buddhist depictions of are not less terrifying, by the way)."

"I love Dante almost as much as the Bible. He is my spiritual food, the rest is ballast."

"Dante has not deigned to take his inspiration from any other. He has wished to be himself, himself alone; in a word, to create. He has occupied a vast space, and has filled it with the superiority of a sublime mind. He is diverse, strong, and gracious. He has imagination, warmth, and enthusiasm. He makes his reader tremble, shed tears, feel the thrill of honor in a way that is the height of art. Severe and menacing, he has terrible imprecations for crime, scourgings for vice, sorrow for misfortune. As a citizen, affected by the laws of the republic, he thunders against its oppressors, but he is always ready to excuse his native city. Florence is ever to him his sweet, beloved country, dear to his heart. I am envious for my dear France, that she has never produced a rival to Dante; that this Colossus has not had his equal among us. No, there is no reputation which can be compared to his."

"Time in culture is capable of many arrangements. Dante read today sets up different relations, very likely, from Dante read in his own decades, but the change is not in Dante nor in his truth, although many will say so. These truths, the truth of the voyage, of the skull-grinding horror, the white chance, leopard, star, and belief, are present. There is no particular question of death, since we are in a life where imaginative experience is given and taken."

"In The Divine Comedy, Dante reserved a special place in the Seventh Circle of Hell for people who charged usurious interest rates. Today we don't need the hellfire, the pitchforks, or the rivers of boiling blood, but we do need a national usury law that caps interest rates on credit cards and consumer loans at 15 percent."

"His very words are instinct with spirit; each is as a spark, a burning atom of inextinguishable thought; and many yet lie covered in the ashes of their birth, and pregnant with the lightning which has yet found no conductor."

"That great genius conceived, in his vast imagination, the mysteries of the invisible creation, and unveiled them to the eyes of the astonished world."

"Dante Alighieri wrote in the fourteenth century that the spirit of poetry abounds "in the tangled constructions and defective pronunciations" of vernacular speech where language is renewed and transformed. His vision resonates today with the faulty speech of migrants creating the sounds and intonations of the future."

"Sa réputation s'affermira toujours, parce qu'on ne le lit guère. II y a de lui une vingtaine de traits qu'on sait par cœur: cela suffit pour s'épargner la peine d'examiner le reste."

"Dante's Inferno was the first book to give me a real thrill. I thought Doré's drawings in it remarkable, and I became exceedingly curious about his work."

"What needs my Shakespeare for his honoured bones, The labor of an age in pilèd stones, Or that his hallowed relics should be hid Under a star-y-pointing pyramid? Dear son of memory, great heir of fame, What need'st thou such weak witness of thy name?"

"And so sepúlchred in such pomp dost lie, That kings for such a tomb would wish to die."

"How soon hath Time, the subtle thief of youth, Stol'n on his wing my three-and-twentieth year!"

"Captain or Colonel, or Knight in Arms, Whose chance on these defenceless doors may seize, If ever deed of honour did thee please, Guard them, and him within protect from harms."

"The great Emathian conqueror bid spare The house of Pindarus, when temple and tower Went to the ground."

"Such sweet compulsion doth in music lie."

"Under the shady roof Of branching elm star-proof."

"Fly, envious Time, till thou run out thy race: Call on the lazy leaden-stepping Hours, Whose speed is but the heavy plummet's pace; And glut thyself with what thy womb devours, Which is no more than what is false and vain, And merely mortal dross."

"O nightingale, that on yon bloomy spray Warbl'st at eve, when all the woods are still."

"Blest pair of Sirens, pledges of Heaven's joy,"

"Where the bright seraphim in burning row Their loud uplifted angel trumpets blow."

"A poet soaring in the high reason of his fancies, with his garland and singing robes about him."

"By labor and intent study (which I take to be my portion in this life), joined with the strong propensity of nature, I might perhaps leave something so written to after-times, as they should not willingly let it die."

"He who would not be frustrate of his hope to write well hereafter in laudable things ought himself to be a true poem."

"His words ... like so many nimble and airy servitors trip about him at command."

"I will not deny but that the best apology against false accusers is silence and sufferance, and honest deeds set against dishonest words."

"So little care they of beasts to make them men, that by their sorcerous doctrine of formalities, they take the way to transform them out of Christian men into judaizing beasts. Had they but taught the land, or suffered it to be taught, as Christ would it should have been in all plenteous dispensation of the word, then the poor mechanic might have so accustomed his ear to good teaching, as to have discerned between faithful teachers and false. But now, with a most inhuman cruelty, they who have put out the people's eyes, reproach them of their blindness; just as the Pharisees their true fathers were wont, who could not endure that the people should be thought competent judges of Christ's doctrine, although we know they judged far better than those great rabbis: yet “this people,” said they, “that know not the law is accursed.”"

"Truth...never comes into the world but like a bastard, to the ignominy of him that brought her forth."

"Let not England forget her precedence of teaching nations how to live."

"Truth is as impossible to be soiled by any outward touch as the sunbeam."

"Men of most renowned virtue have sometimes by transgressing most truly kept the law."

"New Presbyter is but Old Priest writ Large."

"For other things mild Heav'n a time ordains, And disapproves that care, though wise in show, That with superfluous burden loads the day, And, when God sends a cheerful hour, refrains."

"For such kind of borrowing as this, if it be not bettered by the borrower, among good authors is accounted Plagiarè."

"None can love freedom heartily, but good men; the rest love not freedom, but license."

"No man who knows aught, can be so stupid to deny that all men naturally were born free."

"Peace hath her victories No less renowned than war."

"When I consider how my light is spent, Ere half my days, in this dark world and wide, And that one talent which is death to hide Lodged with me useless."

"Who best Bear his mild yoke, they serve him best: his state Is kingly; thousands at his bidding speed, And post o'er land and ocean without rest; They also serve who only stand and wait."

"Non est miserum esse caecum, miserum est caecitatem non posse ferre."

"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."

"Cyriack, whose Grandsire on the Royal Bench Of British Themis, with no mean applause Pronounced and in his volumes taught our Laws, Which others at their Bar so often wrench"

"Yet I argue not Against Heav'n's hand or will, nor bate one jot Of heart or hope; but still bear up, and steer Right onward."

"Of which all Europe rings from side to side."

"In mirth that after no repenting draws."

"Lawrence, of virtuous father virtuous son"

"Methought I saw my late espousèd saint Brought to me like Alcestis from the grave."

"But oh! as to embrace me she inclined, I waked, she fled, and day brought back my night."

"[Rhyme is] but the invention of a barbarous age, to set off wretched matter and lame Meter; ... Not without cause therefore some both Italian and Spanish poets of prime note have rejected rhyme, ... as have also long since our best English tragedies, as... trivial and of no true musical delight; which [truly] consists only in apt numbers, fit quantity of syllables, and the sense variously drawn out from one verse into another, not in the jingling sound of like endings, a fault avoided by the learned ancients both in poetry and all good oratory."

"Such bickerings to recount, met often in these our writers, what more worth is it than to chronicle the wars of kites or crows flocking and fighting in the air?"

"For stories teach us, that liberty sought out of season, in a corrupt and degenerate age, brought Rome itself to a farther slavery: for liberty hath a sharp and double edge, fit only to be handled by just and virtuous men; to bad and dissolute, it becomes a mischief unwieldy in their own hands: neither is it completely given, but by them who have the happy skill to know what is grievance and unjust to a people, and how to remove it wisely; what good laws are wanting, and how to frame them substantially, that good men may enjoy the freedom which they merit, and the bad the curb which they need."

"Madam, methinks I see him living yet; So well your words his noble virtues praise, That all both judge you to relate them true, And to possess them, honour'd Margaret."

"The end of learning is to know God, and out of that knowledge to love Him and imitate Him."

"Such as may make thee search the coffers round."

"O fairest flower! no sooner blown but blasted, Soft silken primrose fading timelessly."

"Thy liquid notes that close the eye of day."

"As ever in my great Taskmaster's eye."

"That old man eloquent."

"That would have made Quintilian stare and gasp."

"License they mean when they cry, Liberty! For who loves that must first be wise and good."

"What neat repast shall feast us, light and choice, Of Attic taste?"

"Have hung My dank and dropping weeds To the stern god of sea."

"Beholding the bright countenance of truth in the quiet and still air of delightful studies."

"I neither oblige the belief of other person, nor overhastily subscribe mine own. Nor have I stood with others computing or collating years and chronologies, lest I should be vainly curious about the time and circumstance of things, whereof the substance is so much in doubt. 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."

"This is the month, and this the happy morn, Wherein the Son of Heav'n's eternal King, Of wedded maid and virgin mother born, Our great redemption from above did bring; For so the holy sages once did sing, That He our deadly forfeit should release, And with His Father work us a perpetual peace."

"It was the winter wild While the Heav'n-born child All meanly wrapt in the rude manger lies."

"No war, or battle's sound Was heard the world around. The idle spear and shield were high up hung."

"Time will run back and fetch the Age of Gold."

"Swinges the scaly horror of his folded tail."

"The oracles are dumb, No voice or hideous hum Runs through the arched roof in words deceiving. Apollo from his shrine Can no more divine, With hollow shriek the steep of Delphos leaving. No nightly trance or breathed spell Inspires the pale-eyed priest from the prophetic cell."

"From haunted spring and dale Edged with poplar pale The parting genius is with sighing sent."

"Peor and Baälim Forsake their temples dim."

"Hence, loathèd Melancholy, Of Cerberus and blackest Midnight born, In Stygian cave forlorn, 'Mongst horrid shapes, and shrieks, and sights unholy."

"Haste thee, Nymph, and bring with thee Jest, and youthful jollity, Quips and cranks and wanton wiles, Nods and becks and wreathèd smiles."

"Sport, that wrinkled Care derides, And Laughter, holding both his sides. Come, and trip it, as you go. On the light fantastic toe."

"The mountain nymph, sweet Liberty."

"Mirth, admit me of thy crew, To live with her, and live with thee, In unreprovèd pleasures free."

"While the cock with lively din Scatters the rear of darkness thin, And to the stack, or the barn door, Stoutly struts his dames before, Oft list'ning how the hounds and horn Cheerly rouse the slumb'ring morn."

"And every shepherd tells his tale Under the hawthorn in the dale."

"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."

"Herbs, and other country messes, Which the neat-handed Phillis dresses."

"And the jocund rebecks sound To many a youth, and many a maid, Dancing in the checkered shade. And young and old come forth to play On a sunshine holiday."

"Then to the spicy nut-brown ale."

"Then lies him down the lubber fiend, And stretched out all the chimney's length, Basks at the fire his hairy strength."

"Towered cities please us then, And the busy hum of men."

"Ladies, whose bright eyes Rain influence, and judge the prize."

"And pomp, and feast, and revelry, With mask, and antique pageantry, Such sights as youthful poets dream On summer eves by haunted stream. Then to the well-trod stage anon, If Jonson's learned sock be on, Or sweetest Shakespeare, Fancy's child, Warble his native wood-notes wild, And ever, against eating cares, Lap me in soft Lydian airs, Married to immortal verse Such as the meeting soul may pierce, In notes with many a winding bout Of linked sweetness long drawn out."

"Untwisting all the chains that tie The hidden soul of harmony."

"Such strains as would have won the ear Of Pluto, to have quite set free His half-regained Eurydice. These delights, if thou canst give, Mirth, with thee, I mean to live."

"Hence vain deluding Joys, The brood of Folly without father bred!"

"The gay motes that people the sunbeams."

"And looks commercing with the skies, Thy rapt soul sitting in thine eyes."

"Forget thyself to marble."

"And join with thee, calm Peace and Quiet, Spare Fast, that oft with gods doth diet."

"And add to these retired Leisure, That in trim gardens takes his pleasure."

"Sweet bird, that shunn'st the noise of folly, Most musical, most melancholy!"

"I walk unseen On the dry smooth-shaven green, To behold the wandering moon, Riding near her highest noon, Like one that had been led astray Through the heav'n's wide pathless way, And oft, as if her head she bowed, Stooping through a fleecy cloud."

"Oft, on a plat of rising ground, I hear the far-off curfew sound Over some wide-watered shore, Swinging low with sullen roar."

"Where glowing embers through the room Teach light to counterfeit a gloom, Far from all resort of mirth, Save the cricket on the hearth."

"Sometime let gorgeous Tragedy In sceptred pall come sweeping by, Presenting Thebes, or Pelops' line, Or the tale of Troy divine."

"But, O sad Virgin, that thy power Might raise Musaeus from his bower, Or bid the soul of Orpheus sing Such notes as warbled to the string, Drew Iron tears down Pluto's cheek, And made Hell grant what Love did seek."

"Or call up him that left half told The story of Cambuscan bold."

"Where more is meant than meets the ear."

"When the gust hath blown his fill, Ending on the rustling leaves With minute drops from off the eaves."

"Hide me from day's garish eye, While the bee with honied thigh, That at her flowery work doth sing, And the waters murmuring With such consort as they keep, Entice the dewy-feathered sleep."

"And storied windows richly dight, Casting a dim religious light. There let the pealing organ blow, To the full-voiced choir below, In service high, and anthems clear As may, with sweetness, through mine ear Dissolve me into ecstasies, And bring all heaven before mine eyes."

"Till old experience do attain To something like prophetic strain."

"He that has light within his own clear breast, May sit i' the centre, and enjoy bright day; But he that hides a dark soul, and foul thoughts, Benighted walks under the mid-day sun; Himself is his own dungeon."

"Yet once more, O ye laurels, and once more Ye myrtles brown, with ivy never sere, I come to pluck your berries harsh and crude, And with forced fingers rude Shatter your leaves before the mellowing year."

"He knew Himself to sing, and build the lofty rhyme."

"Without the meed of some melodious tear."

"Under the opening eyelids of the morn, We drove afield; and both together heard What time the gray-fly winds her sultry horn, Batt'ning our flocks with the fresh dews of night."

"But O the heavy change, now thou art gone, Now thou art gone and never must return!"

"The gadding vine."

"Alas! what boots it with incessant care To tend the homely slighted shepherd's trade, And strictly meditate the thankless Muse? Were it not better done as others use, To sport with Amaryllis in the shade, Or with the tangles of Neaera's hair? Fame is the spur that the clear spirit doth raise (That last infirmity of noble mind) To scorn delights, and live laborious days; But the fair guerdon when we hope to find, And think to burst out into sudden blaze, Comes the blind Fury with th' abhorrèd shears, And slits the thin-spun life."

"Fame is no plant that grows on mortal soil."

"It was that fatal and perfidious bark, Built in th' eclipse, and rigged with curses dark, That sunk so low that sacred head of thine."

"Last came, and last did go, The Pilot of the Galilean lake; Two massy keys he bore of metals twain, (The golden opes, the iron shuts amain)."

"Blind mouths! That scarce themselves know how to hold A sheep-hook."

"The hungry sheep look up, and are not fed, But, swoln with wind, and the rank mist they draw, Rot inwardly, and foul contagion spread: Besides what the grim wolf with privy paw Daily devours apace, and nothing said; But that two-handed engine at the door Stands ready to smite once, and smite no more."

"Throw hither all your quaint enamell'd eyes That on the green turf suck the honied showers, And purple all the ground with vernal flowers. Bring the rathe primrose that forsaken dies, The tufted crow-toe, and pale jessamine, The white pink, and the pansy freakt with jet, The glowing violet, The musk-rose, and the well-attir'd woodbine, With cowslips wan that hang the pensive head, And every flower that sad embroidery wears."

"Whether beyond the stormy Hebrides, Where thou perhaps under the whelming tide Visit'st the bottom of the monstrous world."

"Look homeward, Angel, now, and melt with ruth."

"For Lycidas your sorrow is not dead, Sunk though he be beneath the watery floor; So sinks the day-star in the ocean bed; And yet anon repairs his drooping head, And tricks his beams, and with new-spangled ore Flames in the forehead of the morning sky. So Lycidas sunk low, but mounted high, Through the dear might of him that walked the waves."

"He touch'd the tender stops of various quills, With eager thought warbling his Doric lay."

"At last he rose, and twitched his mantle blue: Tomorrow to fresh woods and pastures new."

"The end then of learning is to repair the ruins of our first parents."

"Litigious terms, fat contentions, and flowing fees."

"I shall detain you no longer in the demonstration of what we should not do, but straight conduct ye to a hillside, where I will point ye out the right path of a virtuous and noble education; laborious indeed at the first ascent, but else so smooth, so green, so full of goodly prospect and melodious sounds on every side that the harp of Orpheus was not more charming."

"Inflamed with the study of learning and the admiration of virtue; stirred up with high hopes of living to be brave men and worthy patriots, dear to God, and famous to all ages."

"Ornate rhetoric thought out of the rule of Plato... To which poetry would be made subsequent, or indeed rather precedent, as being less subtle and fine, but more simple, sensuous, and passionate."

"In those vernal seasons of the year, when the air is calm and pleasant, it were an injury and sullenness against Nature not to go out, and see her riches, and partake in her rejoicing with heaven and earth."

"Attic tragedies of stateliest and most regal argument."

"And chiefly Thou O Spirit, that dost prefer Before all Temples th' upright heart and pure, Instruct me, for Thou know'st; Thou from the first Wast present, and with mighty wings outspread Dove-like satst brooding on the vast Abyss And mad'st it pregnant: What in me is dark Illumine, what is low raise and support; That to the highth of this great Argument I may assert th' Eternal Providence, And justifie the wayes of God to men."

"The mind is its own place, and in itself Can make a heav'n of hell, a hell of heav'n."

"To reign is worth ambition though in Hell: Better to reign in Hell, than serve in Heaven."

"They looking back, all th' Eastern side beheld Of Paradise, so late thir happie seat, Wav'd over by that flaming Brand, the Gate With dreadful Faces throng'd and fierie Armes: Som natural tears they drop'd, but wip'd them soon; The World was all before them, where to choose Thir place of rest, and Providence thir guide: They hand in hand with wandring steps and slow, Through EDEN took thir solitarie way."

"Be frustrate, all ye stratagems of Hell, And devilish machinations come to nought."

"Behold the kings of the Earth how they oppress Thy chosen, to what highth thir pow'r unjust They have exalted, and behind them cast All fear of thee, arise and vindicate Thy Glory, free thy people from thir yoke"

"My rising is thy fall"

"But he, though blind of sight, Despised, and thought extinguished quite, With inward eyes illuminated, His fiery virtue roused From under ashes into sudden flame, [...] So Virtue, given for lost, Depressed and overthrown, as seemed, Like that self-begotten bird In the Arabian woods embost, That no second knows nor third, And lay erewhile a holocaust, From out her ashy womb now teemed, Revives, reflourishes, then vigorous most When most unactive deemed; And, though her body die, her fame survives, A secular bird, ages of lives."

"Gratitude bestows reverence, allowing us to encounter transcendent moments of awe that change forever how we experience life and the world."

"In the sure and flawless perfection of his rhythm and diction he is as admirable as Virgil or Dante, and in this respect he is unique amongst us. No one else in English literature and art possesses the like distinction. Thomson, Cowper, Wordsworth, all of them good poets who have studied Milton, followed Milton, adopted his form, fail in their diction and rhythm if we try them by that high standard of excellence maintained by Milton constantly. From style really high and pure Milton never departs; their departures from it are frequent."

"Milton, from one end of Paradise Lost to the other, is in his diction and rhythm constantly a great artist in the great style... That Milton, of all our English race, is by his diction and rhythm the one artist of the highest rank in the great style whom we have; this I take as requiring no discussion, this I take as certain."

"The reason Milton wrote in fetters when he Wrote of Angels & God, and at liberty when of Devils and Hell, is because he was a true Poet and of the Devil's party without knowing it."

"Now, more than thirty years ago, when I was very young indeed, in my beginning to think about public affairs, in reading the pure writings of John Milton, I found a passage which fixed itself in my mind. This passage time has never been able to take from my memory. He says, "Yet true eloquence I find to be none but the serious and hearty love of truth." And I have endeavoured, so far as I have had the opportunity of speaking in public, to abide by that wise and weighty saying."

"Paradise Regained—the work of a poet unsurpassed in any country or in any age, and a poem which I believe great authorities admit, if Paradise Lost did not exist, would be the finest in our language."

"No person seems better to have understood the secret of heightening, or of setting terrible things, if I may use the expression, in their strongest light by the force of a judicious obscurity, than Milton. His description of Death in the second book is admirably studied; it is astonishing with what a gloomy pomp, with what a significant and expressive uncertainty of strokes and colouring he has finished the portrait of the king of terrors... In this description all is dark, uncertain, confused, terrible, and sublime to the last degree."

"We do not any where meet a more sublime description than this justly celebrated one of Milton, wherein he gives the portrait of Satan with a dignity so suitable to the subject... Here is a very noble picture; and in what does this poetical picture consist? in images of a tower, an archangel, the sun rising through mists, or in an eclipse, the ruin of monarchs, and the revolutions of kingdoms. The mind is hurried out of itself, by a croud of great and confused images; which affect because they are crouded and confused. For separate them, and you lose much of the greatness, and join them, and you infallibly lose the clearness."

"A little heavy, but no less divine."

"Milton, on our account, is flawed, self-contradictory, self-serving, arrogant, passionate, ruthless, ambitious, and cunning. He is also among the most accomplished writers of the Caroline period, the most eloquent polemicist of the mid-century, and the author of the finest and most influential narrative poem in English. Janus-faced, he looks back to the world of Shakespeare, Spenser, and Jonson, and forward to Dryden and to Pope. He is driven by engaging enthusiasms—for the culture of Italy, for music, for in some way matching the life and work of Virgil. He knows his own worth, his singularity, his specialness. He is the most scholarly of poets, a master of classical culture and learning, a humanist in the great tradition of Hugo Grotius or John Selden, and he had a thorough appreciation of modern writers of continental Europe, and particularly of Italy. He studied law, mathematics, history, philology, and theology. He was also a thoughtful and innovative teacher."

"He argued that governments have no business meddling with the religious beliefs of their citizens; that how people worship and whether they worship should not be regulated by the legal machinery of the state. He also denied the right of his rulers to determine what could be printed and read. He claimed that marriage should be founded on mutual affection and intellectual compatibility and that, when those broke down, divorce should end the misery and permit both parties to attempt other relationships. He thought his rulers should be held to account for their actions and that the law was above them. He also contended the best kind of government was republican, an argument that has often prevailed, though not at present in his native land. Many of the civil rights on which modern democratic states are founded are adumbrated in his work. Revolutionaries in France appropriated Milton to their cause. Similarly, American statesmen such as Benjamin Franklin, Thomas Jefferson, and John Adams drew on their wide reading of Milton both to shape their republicanism and to address specific issues such as British taxation in America (for which Franklin drew a parallel with the Chaos of Paradise Lost), the case for ecclesiastical disestablishment in Virginia (for which Franklin drew on the anti-prelatical tracts) and the wickedness of British rulers (whose arrogance Adams compared to Satan's). In intellectual terms, Milton is one of the founding fathers of America."

"Breakfasted with Macaulay. He thinks that, though the last eight books of Paradise Lost contain incomparable beauties, Milton's fame would have stood higher if only the first four had been preserved. He would then have been placed above Homer."

"Milton's dream academy may strike us as a version of hell: repressive, prescriptive, elitist, masculinist, militaristic, dustily pedantic, class-ridden, affectionless. It is hard to imagine it would be endured by anyone as instinctively oppositional as its designer. What remains of interest about the tract [Of Education], though, relates to the critique it offers of Milton's own educational experience and to the disclosure it offers of his particular cultural assumption and concerns."

"Milton's Paradise Lost is admirable; but am I therefore bound to maintain, that there are no flats amongst his elevations, when it is evident he creeps along sometimes for above a hundred lines together? Cannot I admire the height of his invention, and the strength of his expression, without defending his antiquated words, and the perpetual harshness of their sound? It is as much commendation as a man can bear, to own him excellent; all beyond it is idolatry."

"Three poets, in three distant ages born, Greece, Italy, and England did adorn. The first in loftiness of thought surpassed; The next, in majesty; in both the last. The force of Nature could no further go: To make a third, she joined the former two."

"No man has so happily copied the manner of Homer, or so copiously translated his Grecisms, and the Latin elegancies of Virgil. It is true he runs into a flat of thought, sometimes for a hundred lines together, but it is when he has got into a track of Scripture."

"Neither will I justify Milton for his blank verse... For whatever causes he alleges for the abolishing of rhyme (which I have not now the leisure to examine) his own particular reason is plainly this, that rhyme was not his talent; he had neither the ease of doing it, nor the graces of it."

"This man cuts us all out, and the ancients too."

"'Better to rule in Hell, than serve in Heaven.' Eh, little brother-killer?" "Suh-certainly, Lord Lucifer. Whatever you say, Lord Lucifer." "We didn't say it. Milton said it. And he was blind."

"But though in his noble and self-imposed task, the Defence of Liberty, Milton drew inspiration from the poets, orators and philosophers of Greece, nevertheless he stands proudly eminent as the great original genius who first proclaimed to our modern world the truth that freedom to express our thoughts in speech and writing is of all liberties most to be prized."

"To plead the cause of Freedom was, said Milton, his sole aim during the twenty years that followed the meeting of the Long Parliament. In one group of writings he upheld political freedom; in another the right to revise the moral and social code; in a third he called on the nation to establish religious toleration and to liberate the conscience from ecclesiastical supervision. Above all, in the Areopagitica, passing to the fundamental question which dominates all forms of liberty and is its final test, he pleaded with superb power and eloquence for the widest freedom of thought, for complete liberty, unhampered by censors or licensers, to reject, to choose and, if need be, to innovate and reform, because without that supreme freedom he felt there could be no health or progress in the moral and intellectual life of an individual or of a nation. “Give me the liberty,” he wrote, “to know, to utter and to argue freely according to conscience above all liberties.”"

"An acrimonious and surly republican."

"The want of human interest is always felt. Paradise Lost is one of the books which the reader admires and lays down, and forgets to take up again. None ever wished it longer than it is. Its perusal is a duty rather than a pleasure. We read Milton for instruction, retire harassed and overburdened, and look elsewhere for recreation; we desert our master, and seek for companions."

"If he exerted himself to overthrow a forsworn king and a persecuting hierarchy, he exerted himself in conjunction with others. But the glory of the battle which he fought for that species of freedom which is the most valuable, and which was then the least understood, the freedom of the human mind, is all his own. Thousands and tens of thousands among his contemporaries raised their voices against Ship-money and the Star-chamber. But there were few indeed who discerned the more fearful evils of moral and intellectual slavery, and the benefits which would result from the liberty of the press and the unfettered exercise of private judgment. These were the objects which Milton justly conceived to be the most important. He was desirous that the people should think for themselves as well as tax themselves, and should be emancipated from the dominion of prejudice as well as from that of Charles."

"I...sate on deck during the whole voyage. As I could not read, I used an excellent substitute for reading. I went through Paradise Lost in my head. I could still repeat half of it, and that the best half. I really never enjoyed it so much. In the dialogue at the end of the fourth book Satan and Gabriel became to me quite like two of Shakspeare's men. Old Sharp once told me that Henderson the actor used to say to him that there was no better acting scene in the English drama than this. I now felt the truth of the criticism."

"Sir George Hungerford, an Ancient Member of Parliament, told me, many Years ago, that Sir John Denham came into the House one Morning with a Sheet, Wet from the Press, in his Hand. What have you there, Sir John? Part of the Noblest Poem that ever was Wrote in Any Language, or in Any Age. This was Paradise Lost."

"My Lord the Earl of Dorset] took it [Paradise Lost] Home, Read it, and sent it to Dryden, who in a short time return'd it: This Man (says Dryden) Cuts us All Out, and the Ancients too."

"[A] puppy, once my pretty little man, now blear-eyed, or rather a blinding; having never had any mental vision, he has now lost his bodily sight; a silly coxcomb, fancying himself a beauty; an unclean beast, with nothing more human about him than his guttering eyelids; the fittest doom for him would be to hang him on the highest gallows, and set his head on the Tower of London."

"Americans needed at this time not so much intellectual arguments for basic positions as emotional symbols and detailed information addressed to specific issues in contest. Milton supplied both, but the strength of his imagery soon prevailed over the relevance of most of his principles. For Paradise Lost would soon become a main arsenal of propagandist devices, furnishing Americans with images and symbols which could rhetorically if not logically argue a cause."

"The translation from Horace might, indeed, be termed the “version of the forty triumphs,” because there are at least that many prosodical marvels. The unrhymed lines that lap over like waves of music; the delicate beauty of the half-revealed assonance that takes the place of rhyme; the inverted stresses that afford a faint but perceptible trace of antique choriambic rhythm; the admirable spondees of...the stanza itself, Horatian and yet seemingly native English; the apt diction of melancholy—these are some of the treasures of this little poem. It is hardly too much to say that if by chance the rest of Milton's work had been lost, this translation would suffice to prove that he had been a great artist. Nowhere else in such brief compass is the evidence concerning what our literature gained from a study of the classic ode so impressively assembled."

"John Milton was one whose natural parts might deservedly give him a place amongst the principal of our English Poets, having written two Heroick Poems and a Tragedy, namely Paradise Lost, Paradise Regained, and Sampson Agonista. But his Fame is gone out like a Candle in a Snuff, and his Memory will always stink, which might have ever lived in honorable Repute, had not he been a notorious Traytor, and most impiously and villanously bely'd that blessed Martyr, King Charles the First."

"Milton! thou shouldst be living at this hour: England hath need of thee: she is a fen Of stagnant waters: altar, sword, and pen, Fireside, the heroic wealth of hall and bower, Have forfeited their ancient English dower Of inward happiness. We are selfish men; Oh! raise us up, return to us again; And give us manners, virtue, freedom, power. Thy soul was like a Star, and dwelt apart: Thou hadst a voice whose sound was like the sea: Pure as the naked heavens, majestic, free, So didst thou travel on life's common way, In cheerful godliness; and yet thy heart The lowliest duties on herself did lay."

"Milton, perhaps to relieve the uniformity of English structure, which tends to become too barely evident in blank verse, tries often to imitate the classical order; but the result is an effect often of artificiality, at best of solemnity. Homer's Μῆνιν ἄειδε, θεὰ, Πηληϊάδεω Ἀχιλῆος Οὐλομένην, and Virgil's 'Arma virumque cano, Trojæ qui primus ab oris,' &c., put the right words in the right place, without any loss of spirit. Milton's opening— Of man's first disobedience, and the fruit Of that forbidden tree, whose mortal taste Brought death into the world, and all our woe, &c. is like an organ prelude: no English writer of a secular epic in blank verse could begin thus with success. It is impossible not to feel how tense must have been the struggle of that toil which Milton had to bestow on the stubborn material of his native language, before the gold of his words and verses won its full refinement. Diction so magnificent yet so severe cannot carry the reader along; so far from being the mere slave of the thought, like Homer's Greek, it is itself a marvel of study and meditation, which arrests and amazes him."

"Sweet are the pleasures that to verse belong, And doubly sweet a brotherhood in song."

"My spirit is too weak — mortality Weighs heavily on me like unwilling sleep, And each imagin'd pinnacle and steep Of godlike hardship tells me I must die Like a sick Eagle looking at the sky."

"In drear-nighted December, Too happy, happy tree, Thy branches ne'er remember Their green felicity."

"But were there ever any Writh'd not of passed joy? The feel of not to feel it, When there is none to heal it, Nor numbed sense to steel it, Was never said in rhyme."

"It keeps eternal whisperings around Desolate shores, and with its mighty swell Gluts twice ten thousand Caverns, till the spell Of Hecate leaves them their old shadowy sound."

"When I have fears that I may cease to be Before my pen has glean'd my teeming brain, Before high piled books, in charact'ry, Hold like rich garners the full-ripen'd grain; When I behold, upon the night's starr'd face, Huge cloudy symbols of a high romance, And think that I may never live to trace Their shadows, with the magic hand of chance; And when I feel, fair creature of an hour! That I shall never look upon thee more, Never have relish in the faery power Of unreflecting love! — then on the shore Of the wide world I stand alone, and think Till Love and Fame to nothingness do sink."

"Shed no tear! O shed no tear! The flower will bloom another year. Weep no more! O weep no more! Young buds sleep in the root's white core."

"This living hand, now warm and capable Of earnest grasping, would, if it were cold And in the icy silence of the tomb, So haunt thy days and chill thy dreaming nights That thou wouldst wish thine own heart dry of blood So in my veins red life might stream again, And thou be conscience-calm'd — see here it is — I hold it towards you."

"Bright star! would I were stedfast as thou art — Not in lone splendour hung aloft the night And watching with eternal lids apart, Like nature's patient, sleepless Eremite, The moving waters at their priestlike task Of pure ablution round earth's human shores."

"None can usurp this height... But those to whom the miseries of the world Are misery, and will not let them rest."

"The day is gone, and all its sweets are gone! Sweet voice, sweet lips, soft hand, and softer breast."

"To his sight The husk of natural objects opens quite To the core; and every secret essence there Reveals the elements of good and fair; Making him see, where Learning hath no light."

"Here lies one whose name was writ in water."

"My chest of books divide amongst my friends."

"I am certain of nothing but the holiness of the heart's affections and the truth of imagination — what the imagination seizes as beauty must be truth — whether it existed before or not."

"The imagination may be compared to Adam's dream — he awoke and found it truth."

"O for a life of Sensations rather than of Thoughts!"

"I scarcely remember counting upon happiness — I look not for it if it be not in the present hour — nothing startles me beyond the moment. The setting sun will always set me to rights, or if a sparrow come before my Window I take part in its existence and pick about the gravel."

"The excellency of every art is its intensity, capable of making all disagreeables evaporate, from their being in close relationship with beauty and truth."

"At once it struck me what quality went to form a man of achievement, especially in literature, and which Shakespeare possessed so enormously — I mean negative capability, that is, when a man is capable of being in uncertainties, mysteries, doubts, without any irritable reaching after fact and reason."

"They will explain themselves — as all poems should do without any comment."

"Works of genius are the first things in this world."

"Nothing is finer for the purposes of great productions than a very gradual ripening of the intellectual powers."

"Poetry should be great and unobtrusive, a thing which enters into one's soul, and does not startle it or amaze it with itself, but with its subject."

"We hate poetry that has a palpable design upon us — and if we do not agree, seems to put its hand in its breeches pocket. Poetry should be great and unobtrusive, a thing which enters into one's soul, and does not startle or amaze with itself, but with its subject."

"Many have original minds who do not think it — they are led away by custom — Now it appears to me that almost any man may like the spider spin from his own inwards his own citadel."

"In Poetry I have a few axioms, and you will see how far I am from their centre. I think Poetry should surprise by a fine excess and not by singularity — it should strike the reader as a wording of his own highest thoughts, and appear almost a remembrance — Its touches of Beauty should never be halfway thereby making the reader breathless instead of content: the rise, the progress, the setting of imagery should like the Sun come natural to him — shine over him and set soberly although in magnificence leaving him in the luxury of twilight — but it is easier to think what Poetry should be than to write it — and this leads me on to another axiom. That if Poetry comes not as naturally as the leaves to a tree it had better not come at all."

"Scenery is fine — but human nature is finer."

"Every mental pursuit takes its reality and worth from the ardour of the pursuer."

"Axioms in philosophy are not axioms until they are proved upon our pulses: we read fine things but never feel them to the full until we have gone the same steps as the author."

"I compare human life to a large mansion of many apartments, two of which I can only describe, the doors of the rest being as yet shut upon me."

"I am certain I have not a right feeling towards women - at this moment I am striving to be just to them, but I cannot. Is it because they fall so far beneath my boyish imagination? When I was a schoolboy I thought a fair woman a pure Goddess; my mind was a soft nest in which some one of them slept, though she knew it not."

"There is an awful warmth about my heart like a load of immortality."

"I begin to get a little acquainted with my own strength and weakness. Praise or blame has but a momentary effect on the man whose love of beauty in the abstract makes him a severe critic on his own works."

"I have written independently without Judgment. I may write independently, and with Judgment, hereafter. The Genius of Poetry must work out its own salvation in a man: It cannot be matured by law and precept, but by sensation and watchfulness in itself — That which is creative must create itself — In Endymion, I leaped headlong into the sea, and thereby have become better acquainted with the Soundings, the quicksands, and the rocks, than if I had stayed upon the green shore, and piped a, silly pipe, and took tea and comfortable advice. I was never afraid of failure; for I would sooner fail than not be among the greatest."

"I think I shall be among the English Poets after my death."

"The poetical character... is not itself — it has no self — it is every thing and nothing — It has no character — it enjoys light and shade; it lives in gusto, be it fair or foul, high or low, rich or poor, mean or elevated. — It has as much delight in conceiving an Iago as an Imogen. What shocks the virtuous philospher, delights the camelion poet."

"A poet is the most unpoetical of anything in existence; because he has no identity — he is continually informing — and filling some other body."

"A man's life of any worth is a continual allegory — and very few eyes can see the mystery of life — a life like the Scriptures, figurative... Lord Byron cuts a figure, but he is not figurative. Shakespeare led a life of allegory: his works are the comments on it."

"Nothing ever becomes real till it is experienced — Even a proverb is no proverb to you till your Life has illustrated it."

"I myself am pursuing the same instinctive course as the veriest human animal you can think of — I am, however young, writing at random — straining at particles of light in the midst of a great darkness — without knowing the bearing of any one assertion, of any one opinion. Yet may I not in this be free from sin?"

"Call the world if you please "The vale of soul-making.""

"I have two luxuries to brood over in my walks, your loveliness and the hour of my death. O that I could have possession of them both in the same minute."

"I have nothing to speak of but my self-and what can I say but what I feel"

"Some think I have lost that poetical ardour and fire 'tis said I once had- the fact is, perhaps I have; but, instead of that, I hope I shall substitute a more thoughtful and quiet power."

"I have been astonished that Men could die Martyrs for religion – I have shudder’d at it – I shudder no more – I could be martyr’d for my Religion – Love is my religion – I could die for that – I could die for you. My Creed is Love and you are its only tenet."

"If I should die," said I to myself, "I have left no immortal work behind me — nothing to make my friends proud of my memory — but I have loved the principle of beauty in all things, and if I had had time I would have made myself remembered."

"You are always new. The last of your kisses was ever the sweetest; the last smile the brightest; the last movement the gracefullest."

"You might curb your magnanimity, and be more of an artist, and load every rift of your subject with ore."

"I can scarcely bid you good-bye, even in a letter. I always made an awkward bow. God bless you!"

"I stood tip-toe upon a little hill, The air was cooling, and so very still, That the sweet buds which with a modest pride Pull droopingly, in slanting curve aside, Their scantly leaved, and finely tapering stems, Had not yet lost those starry diadems Caught from the early sobbing of the morn."

"And then there crept A little noiseless noise among the leaves, Born of the very sigh that silence heaves."

"Open afresh your round of starry folds, Ye ardent marigolds!"

"Why, you might read two sonnets, ere they reach To where the hurrying freshnesses aye preach A natural sermon o'er their pebbly beds; Where swarms of minnows show their little heads, Staying their wavy bodies ’gainst the streams, To taste the luxury of sunny beams Temper’d with coolness."

"Sometimes goldfinches one by one will drop From low hung branches; little space they stop; But sip, and twitter, and their feathers sleek; Then off at once, as in a wanton freak: Or perhaps, to show their black, and golden wings Pausing upon their yellow flutterings."

"Nought but a lovely sighing of the wind Along the reedy stream; a half-heard strain, Full of sweet desolation—balmy pain."

"Woman! when I behold thee flippant, vain, Inconstant, childish, proud, and full of fancies."

"To one who has been long in city pent, ’Tis very sweet to look into the fair And open face of heaven."

"E’en like the passage of an angel’s tear That falls through the clear ether silently."

"Much have I travell'd in the realms of gold, And many goodly states and kingdoms seen; Round many western islands have I been Which bards in fealty to Apollo hold. Oft of one wide expanse had I been told That deep-brow'd Homer ruled as his demesne, Yet did I never breathe its pure serene Till I heard Chapman speak out loud and bold: Then felt I like some watcher of the skies When a new planet swims into his ken; Or like stout Cortez when with eagle eyes He stared at the Pacific, and all his men Look'd at each other with a wild surmise, Silent, upon a peak in Darien."

"And other spirits there are standing apart Upon the forehead of the age to come; These, these will give the world another heart, And other pulses. Hear ye not the hum Of mighty workings in a distant mart? Listen awhile ye nations, and be dumb."

"The poetry of earth is never dead."

"Stop and consider! life is but a day; A fragile dew-drop on its perilous way From a tree's summit."

"O for ten years, that I may overwhelm Myself in poesy; so I may do the deed That my own soul has to itself decreed."

"A drainless shower Of light is poesy; ’tis the supreme of power; ’Tis might half slumb’ring on its own right arm."

"But strength alone though of the Muses born Is like a fallen angel: trees uptorn, Darkness, and worms, and shrouds, and sepulchres Delight it; for it feeds upon the burrs, And thorns of life; forgetting the great end Of poesy, that it should be a friend To sooth the cares, and lift the thoughts of man."

"The sweet converse of an innocent mind."

"There is not a fiercer hell than the failure in a great object."

"The imagination of a boy is healthy, and the mature imagination of a man is healthy; but there is a space of life between, in which the soul is in a ferment, the character undecided, the way of life uncertain, the ambition thicksighted: thence proceeds mawkishness, and the thousand bitters which those men I speak of must necessarily taste in going over the following pages."

"A thing of beauty is a joy forever: Its loveliness increases; it will never Pass into nothingness; but still will keep A bower quiet for us, and a sleep Full of sweet dreams, and health, and quiet breathing."

"In spite of all, Some shape of beauty moves away the pall From our dark spirits."

"The grandeur of the dooms We have imagined for the mighty dead; All lovely tales that we have heard or read: An endless fountain of immortal drink, Pouring unto us from the heaven's brink."

"Nor do we merely feel these essences For one short hour; no, even as the trees That whisper round a temple become soon Dear as the temple's self, so does the moon, The passion poesy, glories infinite, Haunt us till they become a cheering light Unto our souls, and bound to us so fast, That, whether there be shine, or gloom o'ercast, They alway must be with us, or we die."

"O magic sleep! O comfortable bird, That broodest o'er the troubled sea of the mind Till it is hush'd and smooth!"

"Time, that aged nurse, Rocked me to patience."

"Wherein lies happiness? In that which becks Our ready minds to fellowship divine, A fellowship with essence; till we shine, Full alchemiz'd, and free of space. Behold The clear religion of heaven!"

"Ghosts of melodious prophesyings rave Round every spot where trod Apollo's foot; Bronze clarions awake, and faintly bruit, Where long ago a giant battle was; And, from the turf, a lullaby doth pass In every place where infant Orpheus slept. Feel we these things? — that moment have we stept Into a sort of oneness, and our state Is like a floating spirit's. But there are Richer entanglements, enthralments far More self-destroying, leading, by degrees, To the chief intensity: the crown of these Is made of love and friendship, and sits high Upon the forehead of humanity."

"My restless spirit never could endure To brood so long upon one luxury, Unless it did, though fearfully, espy A hope beyond the shadow of a dream."

"Pleasure is oft a visitant; but pain Clings cruelly to us."

"He ne'er is crown'd With immortality, who fears to follow Where airy voices lead."

"'Tis the pest Of love, that fairest joys give most unrest."

"To Sorrow I bade good-morrow, And thought to leave her far away behind; But cheerly, cheerly, She loves me dearly; She is so constant to me, and so kind: I would deceive her And so leave her, But ah! she is so constant and so kind."

"So many, and so many, and such glee."

"O, what can ail thee, knight-at-arms, Alone and palely loitering? The sedge has wither'd from the lake, And no birds sing."

"I met a lady in the meads, Full beautiful — a faery's child, Her hair was long, her foot was light, And her eyes were wild."

"I made a garland for her head, And bracelets too, and fragrant zone; She look'd at me as she did love, And made sweet moan."

"I saw pale kings and princes too, Pale warriors, death-pale were they all; They cried- "La Belle Dame sans Merci Hath thee in thrall!""

"Deep in the shady sadness of a vale Far sunken from the healthy breath of morn, Far from the fiery noon, and eve's one star, Sat gray-hair'd Saturn, quiet as a stone, Still as the silence round about his lair; Forest on forest hung about his head Like cloud on cloud."

"That large utterance of the early gods!"

"As when, upon a tranced summer-night, Those green-rob'd senators of mighty woods, Tall oaks, branch-charmed by the earnest stars, Dream, and so dream all night without a stir, Save from one gradual solitary gust Which comes upon the silence, and dies off, As if the ebbing air had but one wave."

"The days of peace and slumberous calm are fled."

"Now comes the pain of truth, to whom 'tis pain; O folly! for to bear all naked truths, And to envisage circumstance, all calm, That is the top of sovereignty Mark well."

"Knowledge enormous makes a God of me."

"And for her eyes: what could such eyes do there But weep, and weep, that they were born so fair?"

"Love in a hut, with water and a crust, Is — Love, forgive us! — cinders, ashes, dust."

"There was an awful rainbow once in heaven: We know her woof, her texture; she is given In the dull catalogue of common things. Philosophy will clip an Angel's wings, Conquer all mysteries by rule and line, Empty the haunted air, and gnomed mine — Unweave a rainbow, as it erewhile made The tender-person'd Lamia melt into a shade."

"“For cruel ’tis,” said she, “To steal my Basil-pot away from me.”"

"So let me be thy choir, and make a moan Upon the midnight hours"

"And there shall be for thee all soft delight That shadowy thought can win, A bright torch, and a casement ope at night, To let the warm Love in!"

"Ever let the Fancy roam, Pleasure never is at home."

"Bards of Passion and of Mirth, Ye have left your souls on earth! Have ye souls in heaven too, Double-lived in regions new?"

"Souls of Poets dead and gone, What Elysium have ye known, Happy field or mossy cavern, Choicer than the Mermaid Tavern?"

"Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness, Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun; Conspiring with him how to load and bless With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eves run; To bend with apples the moss'd cottage-trees, And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core; To swell the ground, and plump the hazel shells With a sweet kernel; to set budding more, And still more, later flowers for the bees, Until they think warm days will never cease, For Summer has o'er-brimm'd their clammy cells."

"Who hath not seen thee oft amid thy store? Sometimes whoever seeks abroad may find Thee sitting careless on a granary floor, Thy hair soft-lifted by the winnowing wind; Or on a half-reap'd furrow sound asleep, Drows'd with the fume of poppies, while thy hook Spares the next swath and all its twined flowers."

"Then in a wailful choir the small gnats mourn Among the river sallows, borne aloft Or sinking as the light wind lives or dies."

"No, no, go not to Lethe, neither twist Wolfs-bane, tight-rooted, for its poisonous wine; Nor suffer thy pale forehead to be kiss'd By nightshade."

"But when the melancholy fit shall fall Sudden from heaven like a weeping cloud, That fosters the droop-headed flowers all, And hides the green hill in an April shroud; Then glut thy sorrow on a morning rose."

"She dwells with Beauty — Beauty that must die; And Joy, whose hand is ever at his lips Bidding adieu; and aching Pleasure nigh, Turning to poison while the bee-mouth sips. Ay, in the very temple of Delight Veil'd Melancholy has her sovran shrine, Though seen of none save him whose strenuous tongue Can burst Joy's grape against his palate fine; His soul shall taste the sadness of her might, And be among her cloudy trophies hung."

"St. Agnes' Eve — Ah, bitter chill it was! The owl, for all his feathers, was a-cold; The hare limp'd trembling through the frozen grass, And silent was the flock in woolly fold."

"Music's golden tongue Flatter'd to tears this aged man and poor."

"The silver snarling trumpets 'gan to chide."

"The music, yearning like a God in pain."

"She sighed for Agnes’ dreams, the sweetest of the year."

"Asleep in lap of legends old."

"Sudden a thought came like a full-blown rose, Flushing his brow, and in his pained heart Made purple riot."

"A poor, weak, palsy-stricken, churchyard thing."

"As though a tongueless nightingale should swell Her throat in vain, and die, heart-stifled, in her dell."

"Full on this casement shone the wintry moon, And threw warm gules on Madeline's fair breast, As down she knelt for heaven's grace and boon; Rose-bloom fell on her hands, together prest."

"Unclasps her warmed jewels one by one; Loosens her fragrant bodice; by degrees Her rich attire creeps rustling to her knees."

"As though a rose should shut and be a bud again."

"And still she slept an azure-lidded sleep, In blanched linen, smooth, and lavender'd."

"And lucent syrops, tinct with cinnamon."

"He play'd an ancient ditty long since mute, In Provence call'd "La belle dame sans mercy.""

"She hurried at his words, beset with fears, For there were sleeping dragons all around, At glaring watch, perhaps, with ready spears — Down the wide stairs a darkling way they found. — In all the house was heard no human sound. A chain-droop'd lamp was flickering by each door; The arras, rich with horseman, hawk, and hound, Flutter'd in the besieging wind's uproar; And the long carpets rose along the gusty floor."

"And they are gone: ay, ages long ago These lovers fled away into the storm."

"My heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains My sense, as though of hemlock I had drunk, Or emptied some dull opiate to the drains One minute past, and Lethe-wards had sunk: 'Tis not through envy of thy happy lot, But being too happy in thine happiness, — That thou, light-winged Dryad of the trees, In some melodious plot Of beechen green, and shadows numberless, Singest of summer in full-throated ease."

"O, for a draught of vintage! that hath been Cool'd a long age in the deep-delved earth. Tasting of Flora and the country green, Dance, and Provencal song, and sunburnt mirth! O for a beaker full of the warm South, Full of the true, the blushful Hippocrene, With beaded bubbles winking at the brim, And purple-stained mouth."

"Fade far away, dissolve, and quite forget What thou among the leaves hast never known, The weariness, the fever, and the fret Here, where men sit and hear each other groan; Where palsy shakes a few, sad, last gray hairs, Where youth grows pale, and spectre-thin, and dies; Where but to think is to be full of sorrow And leaden-eyed despairs."

"Already with thee! tender is the night."

"I cannot see what flowers are at my feet, Nor what soft incense hangs upon the boughs, But, in embalmed darkness, guess each sweet."

"And mid-May's eldest child, The coming musk-rose, full of dewy wine, The murmurous haunt of flies on summer eves."

"Darkling I listen; and, for many a time I have been half in love with easeful Death, Call'd him soft names in many a musèd rhyme, To take into the air my quiet breath; Now more than ever seems it rich to die, To cease upon the midnight with no pain, While thou art pouring forth thy soul abroad In such an ecstasy! Still wouldst thou sing, and I have ears in vain — To thy high requiem become a sod."

"Thou wast not born for death, immortal Bird! No hungry generations tread thee down; The voice I hear this passing night was heard In ancient days by emperor and clown: Perhaps the self-same song that found a path Through the sad heart of Ruth, when, sick for home, She stood in tears amid the alien corn; The same that oft-times hath Charm'd magic casements, opening on the foam Of perilous seas, in faery lands forlorn."

"Forlorn! the very word is like a bell To toil me back from thee to my sole self!"

"Was it a vision, or a waking dream? Fled is that music: — Do I wake or sleep?"

"Thou still unravish'd bride of quietness, Thou foster-child of silence and slow time, Sylvan historian, who canst thus express A flowery tale more sweetly than our rhyme: What leaf-fringed legend haunts about thy shape? Of deities or mortals, or of both, In Tempe or the dales of Arcady? What men or gods are these? What maidens loth? What mad pursuit? What struggle to escape? What pipes and timbrels? What wild ecstasy?"

"Heard melodies are sweet, but those unheard Are sweeter: therefore, ye soft pipes, play on; Not to the sensual ear, but, more endear'd, Pipe to the spirit ditties of no tone. Fair youth, beneath the trees, thou canst not leave Thy song, nor ever can those trees be bare; Bold Lover, never, never canst thou kiss, Though winning near the goal — yet, do not grieve; She cannot fade, though thou hast not thy bliss, For ever wilt thou love, and she be fair!"

"Who are these coming to the sacrifice? To what green altar, O mysterious priest, Lead'st thou that heifer lowing at the skies, And all her silken flanks with garlands drest?"

"Thou, silent form, dost tease us out of thought As doth eternity: Cold Pastoral! When old age shall this generation waste, Thou shalt remain, in midst of other woe Than ours, a friend to man, to whom thou say'st, "Beauty is truth, truth beauty," — that is all Ye know on earth, and all ye need to know."

"The other people that I was simply made for were the Romantic poets. Shelley, in particular, and Keats."

"What harm he has done in English Poetry. As Browning is a man with a moderate gift passionately desiring movement and fulness, and obtaining but a confused multitudinousness, so Keats with a very high gift, is yet also consumed by this desire; and cannot produce the truly living and moving, as his conscience keeps telling him. They will not be patient neither understand that they must begin with an Idea of the world in order not be prevailed over by the world's multitudinousness: or if they cannot get that, at least with isolated ideas: and all other things shall (perhaps) be added unto them."

"[about his letters] I think I enjoy them more than his poetry. He had a wonderful brain and a very strong character."

"[On Monckton Milne's Life of Keats] An attempt to make us eat dead dog by exquisite currying and cooking [...] The kind of man that Keats was gets ever more horrible to me. Forces of hunger for every pleasure of every kind, and want of all other force -- that is a combination! Such a structure of soul, it would once have been very evident, was a chosen 'Vessel of Hell' [...]"

"Here are Johnny Keats's piss a-bed poetry [...] There is such trash of Keats and the like upon my tables, that I am ashamed to look at them [...] No more Keats, I entreat: flay him alive; if some of you don't I must skin him myself: there is no bearing the driveling idiotism of the Mankin."

"My indignation at Mr. Keats's depreciation of Pope has hardly permitted me to do justice to his own genius, which, malgre all the fantastic fopperies of his style, was undoubtedly of great promise. His fragment of Hyperion seems actually inspired by the Titans, and is as sublime as Aeschylus. He is a loss to our literature."

"Keats, entirely a stranger to error, could believe that the nightingale enchanting him was the same one Ruth heard amid the alien corn of Bethlehem in Judah; Stevenson posits a single bird that consumes the centuries: "the nightingale that devours time." Schopenhauer — impassioned, lucid Schopenhauer — provides a reason: the pure corporeal immediacy in which animals live, oblivious to death and memory. He then adds, not without a smile: Whoever hears me assert that the grey cat playing just now in the yard is the same one that did jumps and tricks there five hundred years ago will think whatever he likes of me, but it is a stranger form of madness to imagine that the present-day cat is fundamentally an entirely different one."

"In the latter part of that year's summer [1817] I first saw him. It was on the Hampstead road that we were introduced to each other.... ...in that interview of a minute I inwardly desired his acquaintanceship, if not his friendship... He was small in stature, well proportioned, compact in form, and, though thin, rather muscular; — one of the many who prove that manliness is distinct from height and bulk. There is no magic equal to that of an ingenuous countenance, and I never beheld any human being's so ingenuous as his. His full fine eyes were lustrously intellectual, and beaming (at that time!) with hope and joy. It has been remarked that the most faulty feature was his mouth; and, at intervals, it was so. But, whenever he spoke, or was, in any way, excited, the expression of the lips was so varied and delicate, that they might be called handsome."

"A very odd young man, but good-tempered, and good-hearted, and very clever indeed."

"I also liked the Romantic poets. Wordsworth, Keats, Burns and Blake were some of my favourites. There was something about their rebellious spirit against the evils of industrialization that moved me. Of course now, some of their pessimism, mysticism and limited critical realist visions make me quite uncomfortable."

"Keats was in childhood not attached to books. His penchant was for fighting. He would fight any one – morning, noon, and night, his brother among the rest. It was meat and drink to him. Jennings their sailor relation was always in the thoughts of the brothers, and they determined to keep up the family reputation for courage; George in a passive manner; John and Tom more fiercely. The favourites of John were few; after they were known to fight readily he seemed to prefer them for a sort of grotesque and buffoon humour. I recollect at this moment his delight at the extraordinary gesticulations and pranks of a boy named Wade who was celebrated for this.... He was a boy whom any one from his extraordinary vivacity and personal beauty might easily fancy would become great — but rather in some military capacity than in literature."

"He was called by his fellow students 'little Keats,' being at his full growth no more than five feet high.... In a room, he was always at the window, peering into space, so that the windowseat was spoken of by his comrades as Keats's place.... In the lecture room he seemed to sit apart and to be absorbed in something else, as if the subject suggested thoughts to him which were not practically connected with it. He was often in the subject and out of it, in a dreamy way. He never attached much consequence to his own studies in medicine, and indeed looked upon the medical career as the career by which to live in a workaday world, without being certain that he could keep up the strain of it. He nevertheless had a consciousness of his own powers, and even of his own greatness, though it might never be recognised.... Poetry was to his mind the zenith of all his aspirations: the only thing worthy the attention of superior minds: so he thought: all other pursuits were mean and tame. He had no idea of fame or greatness but as it was connected with the pursuits of poetry, or the attainment of poetical excellence.... He was gentlemanly in his manners and when he condescended to talk upon other subjects he was agreeable and intelligent. He was quick and apt at learning, when he chose to give his attention to any subject. He was a steady quiet and well behaved person, never inclined to pursuits of a low or vicious character."

"He was under the middle height; and his lower limbs were small in comparison with the upper, but neat and well-turned. His shoulders were very broad for his size; he had a face, in which energy and sensibility were remarkably mixed-up, an eager power checked and made patient by ill-health. Every feature was at once strongly cut, and delicately alive. If there was any faulty expression, it was in the mouth, which was not without something of a character of pugnacity... The head was a particular puzzle for the phrenologist, being remarkably small in the skull; a singularity he has in common with Lord Byron and Mr Shelley, none of whose hats I could get on."

"And don't you remember Keats proposing 'Confusion to the memory of Newton' and upon your insisting on an explanation before you drank it, his saying, 'Because he destroyed the poetry of the rainbow by reducing it to a prism? Ah, my dear old friend, you and I shall never see such days again!"

"I remember... his first introduction to Mr. Haydon; and when in the course of conversation that great artist asked him, "if he did not love his country," how the blood rushed to his cheeks and the tears to his eyes, at his energetic reply. His love of freedom was ardent and grand."

"He is studying closely, recovering his Latin, going to learn Greek, and seems altogether more rational than usual — but he is such a man of fits and starts he is not much to be depended on. Still he thinks of nothing but poetry as his being's end and aim, and sometime or other he will, I doubt not, do something valuable."

"He, who is gone, was one of the very kindest friends I possessed, and yet he was not kinder perhaps to me, than to others. His intense mind and powerful feelings would, I truly believe, have done the world some service, had his life been spared — but he was of too sensitive a nature — and thus he was destroyed!"

"[Keats] was the very soul of courage and manliness, and as much like the holy Ghost as Johnny Keats."

"When somebody expressed his surprise to Shelley, that Keats, who was not very conversant with the Greek language, could write so finely and classically of their gods and goddesses, Shelley replied “He was a Greek.”"

"think: poems fixed this landscape: Blake, Donne, Keats"

"With Wordsworth, mortality is often just under the surface, as it was with Keats, another child of his time, who believed, because of the Enlightenment, that we are material beings in a material universe and that we must just accept that fate. We are mortal, but with no divine shoulder to lean on, and we will never understand the deepest truths, which, contrary to all the protestations of the Enlightenment, neither reason nor science can reach. Keats had a tragic sense of life. He is recognizably a Romantic; there is no Enlightenment Utopia waiting for him."

"I’d happily just be someone Keats’s epitaph describes: “Here lies one whose name was writ in water.”"

"I have a lifelong love for John Keats, the greatest of the English Romantic poets who lived during the nineteenth century. His uncanny ability to create beauty with words touched my soul. I was still quite young when I read the letter Keats sent to his brother in 1817. In it, he wrote about "negative capability," which he explained as the quality "when a man is capable of being in uncertainties, mysteries, doubts, without any irritable reaching"

"I trow that countenance cannot lie, Whose thoughts are legible in the eie."

"Death slue not him, but he made death his ladder to the skies."

"I hate the day, because it lendeth light To see all things, but not my love to see."

"So love is Lord of all the world by right."

"I was promised on a time To have reason for my rhyme; From that time unto this season, I received nor rhyme nor reason."

"Uncouthe, unkiste, sayde the olde famous poete Chaucer."

"So now they have made our English tongue, a gallimaufray or hodgepodge of al other speches."

"To be wise and eke to love, Is graunted scarce to God above."

"And whither rennes this bevie of ladies bright, Raunged in a rowe?"

"Bring hether the Pincke and purple Cullambine, With Gelliflowres: Bring Coronations, and Sops in wine, Worne of Paramoures. Strowe me the ground with Daffadowndillies, And Cowslips, and Kingcups, and loved Lillies: The pretie Pawnce, And the Chevisaunce, Shall match with the fayre flowre Delice."

"Is not thilke the mery moneth of May, When love lads masken in fresh aray?"

"To kerke the narre from God more farre, Has bene an old-sayd sawe; And he that strives to touche a starre Oft stombles at a strawe."

"What more felicitie can fall to creature Than to enjoy delight with libertie, And to be lord of all the workes of Nature, To raine in th' aire from earth to highest skie, To feed on flowres and weeds of glorious feature."

"All, that in this world is great or gay, Doth as a vapour vanish, and decay."

"For deeds do die, however nobly done, And thoughts of men do as themselves decay; But wise words, taught in numbers for to run, Recorded by the Muses, live for aye; Nor may with storming showers be washed away; Nor bitter-breathing winds, with harmful blast, Nor age, nor envy, shall them ever waste."

"Of such deep learning little had he neede, Ne yet of Latine, ne of Greeke, that breede Doubts mongst Divines, and difference of texts, From whence arise diversitie of sects, And hatefull heresies."

"Full little knowest thou that hast not tride, What hell it is in suing long to bide: To loose good dayes, that might be better spent; To wast long nights in pensive discontent; To speed to-day, to be put back to-morrow; To feed on hope, to pine with feare and sorrow. . . . . . . . . . To fret thy soule with crosses and with cares; To eate thy heart through comfortlesse dispaires; To fawne, to crowche, to waite, to ride, to ronne, To spend, to give, to want, to be undonne. Unhappie wight, borne to desastrous end, That doth his life in so long tendance spend!"

"I learned have, not to despise, What ever thing seemes small in common eyes."

"See how the tyrannesse doth joy to see The huge massacres which her eyes do make."

"The rolling wheel, that runneth often round, The hardest steel in tract of time doth tear; And drizzling drops, that often do redound, The firmest flint doth in continuance wear: Yet cannot I, with many a dropping tear, And long entreaty, soften her hard heart, That she will once vouchsafe my plaint to hear, Or look with pity on my painful smart: But when I plead, she bids me play my part; And when I weep, she says, "Tears are but water"; And when I sigh, she says, "I know the art"; And when I wail, she turns herself to laughter; So do I weep and wail, and plead in vain, Whiles she as steel and flint doth still remain."

"The merry cuckow, messenger of spring His trompet shrill hath thrise already sounded."

"Fondnesse it were for any being free, To covet fetters, though they golden bee."

"Of this worlds theatre in which we stay, My love lyke the spectator ydly sits Beholding me that all the pageants play, Disguysing diversly my troubled wits. Sometimes I joy when glad occasion fits, And mask in myrth lyke to a comedy: Soone after when my joy to sorrow flits, I waile and make my woes a tragedy."

"What then can move her? if nor merth, nor mone, She is no woman, but a sencelesse stone."

"Most glorious Lord of lyfe that on this day, Didst make thy triumph over death and sin: And, having harrowd hell, didst bring away, Captivity thence captive, us to win."

"So let us love, deare Love, lyke as we ought; Love is the lesson which the Lord us taught."

"Fresh spring the herald of loves mighty king, In whose cote armour richly are displayd All sorts of flowers the which on earth do spring In goodly colours gloriously arrayd."

"Tell her the joyous Time will not be staid, Unlesse she doe him by the forelock take."

"Make hast therefore sweet love, whilest it is prime, For none can call againe the passed time."

"One day I wrote her name upon the strand, But came the waves and washed it away: Agayne I wrote it with a second hand, But came the tyde, and made my paynes his pray. Vayne man, sayd she, that doest in vaine assay, A mortall thing so to immortalize. For I my selve shall lyke to this decay, And eek my name bee wyped out lykewize. Not so, (quod I) let baser things devize, To dy in dust, but you shall live by fame: My verse your vertues rare shall eternize, And in the hevens wryte your glorious name. Where whenas death shall all the world subdew, Our love shall live, and later life renew."

"Open the temple gates unto my love, Open them wide that she may enter in."

"Behold, whiles she before the altar stands, Hearing the holy priest that to her speakes, And blesseth her with his two happy hands."

"Ah, when will this long weary day have end, And lende me leave to come unto my love?"

"Ne let the Pouke, nor other evill sprights, Ne let mischievous witches with their charmes, Ne let hob goblins, names whose sence we see not, Fray us with things that be not."

"Song made in lieu of many ornaments, With which my love should duly have bene dect."

"Calm was the day, and through the trembling air Sweet-breathing Zephyrus did softly play— A gentle spirit, that lightly did delay Hot Titan's beams, which then did glister fair."

"Sweete Themmes runne softly, till I end my Song."

"There, in a Meadow, by the Rivers side, A flocke of Nymphes I chaunced to espy, All lovely Daughters of the Flood thereby, With goodly greenish locks all loose untyde, As each had bene a Bryde."

"With that I saw two swans of goodly hue Come softly swimming down along the Lee: Two fairer birds I yet did never see; The snow which doth the top of Pindus strow Did never whiter show, Nor Jove himself, when he a swan would be For love of Leda, whiter did appear."

"So purely white they were, That even the gentle streame, the which them bare, Seem’d foule to them, and bad his billowes spare To wet their silken feathers, least they might Soyle their fair plumes with water not so fayre, And mar their beauties bright, That shone as heavens light."

"At length they all to mery London came, To mery London, my most kindly Nurse, That to me gave this lifes first native sourse."

"That beauty is not, as fond men misdeem, An outward shew of things, that only seem."

"So every spirit, as it is most pure, And hath in it the more of heavenly light, So it the fairer bodie doth procure To habit in, and it more fairely dight With cheerful grace and amiable sight: For of the soule the bodie forme doth take; For the soule is forme, and doth the bodie make."

"For all that faire is, is by nature good; That is a signe to know the gentle blood."

"Fierce warres and faithfull loves shall moralize my song."

"A Gentle Knight was pricking on the plaine."

"But of his cheere did seeme too solemne sad; Yet nothing did he dread, but ever was ydrad."

"The noblest mind the best contentment has."

"A bold bad man, that dar'd to call by name Great Gorgon, Prince of darknesse and dead night."

"As the great eye of heaven, shyned bright, And made a sunshine in the shady place."

"Ay me, how many perils doe enfold The righteous man, to make him daily fall!"

"As when in Cymbrian plaine An heard of bulles, whom kindly rage doth sting, Doe for the milky mothers want complaine, And fill the fieldes with troublous bellowing."

"Entire affection hateth nicer hands."

"That darksome cave they enter, where they find That cursed man, low sitting on the ground, Musing full sadly in his sullein mind."

"Is not short paine well borne, that brings long ease, And layes the soul to sleepe in quiet grave? Sleepe after toyle, port after stormie seas, Ease after warre, death after life does greatly please."

"O happy earth, Whereon thy innocent feet doe ever tread!"

"No daintie flowre or herbe that growes on grownd, No arborett with painted blossoms drest And smelling sweete, but there it might be fownd To bud out faire, and throwe her sweete smels al arownd."

"And is there care in Heaven? And is there love In heavenly spirits to these Creatures bace?"

"How oft do they their silver bowers leave To come to succour us that succour want!"

"And all for love, and nothing for reward."

"Eftsoones they heard a most melodious sound."

"Through thicke and thin, both over banke and bush In hope her to attaine by hooke or crooke."

"Into the woods thenceforth in hast she went, To seeke for hearbes, that mote him remedy; For she of hearbes had great intendiment, Taught of the Nymphe, which from her infancy Her nourced had in trew Nobility: There, whether it divine Tobacco were, Or Panachaea, or Polygony, She found, and brought it to her patient deare Who al this while lay bleeding out his hart-bloud neare."

"Her berth was of the wombe of morning dew, And her conception of the joyous Prime."

"Roses red and violets blew, And all the sweetest flowres that in the forrest grew."

"And as she lookt about, she did behold, How over that same dore was likewise writ, Be bold, be bold, and every where Be bold, That much she muz'd, yet could not construe it By any ridling skill, or commune wit. At last she spyde at that same roomes upper end, Another yron dore, on which was writ, Be not too bold."

"Dan Chaucer, well of English undefyled, On Fames eternall beadroll worthie to be fyled."

"For all that Nature by her mother-wit Could frame in earth."

"As withered weed through cruell winters tine, That feeles the warmth of sunny beames reflection, Liftes up his head, that did before decline And gins to spread his leafe before the faire sunshine."

"Me seemes the world is runne quite out of square, From the first point of his appointed sourse, And being once amisse growes daily wourse and wourse."

"Who will not mercie unto others show, How can he mercy ever hope to have?"

"Ill can he rule the great, that cannot reach the small."

"But Justice, though her dome [doom] she doe prolong, Yet at the last she will her owne cause right."

"A monster, which the Blatant beast men call, A dreadfull feend of gods and men ydrad."

"The gentle minde by gentle deeds is knowne. For a man by nothing is so well bewrayd, As by his manners."

"And in his hand a sickle he did holde, To reape the ripened fruits the which the earth had yold."

"For we by conquest, of our soveraine might, And by eternall doome of Fate's decree, Have wonne the Empire of the Heavens bright."

"Ere he ended his melodious song, An host of angels flew the clouds among, And rapt this swan from his attentive mates To make him one of their associates In heaven's fair choir."

"He threw the soul of harmony into our verse, and made it more warmly, tenderly, and magnificently descriptive than it ever was before, or, with a few exceptions, than it has ever been since. ... We shall nowhere find more airy and expansive images of visionary things, a sweeter tone of sentiment, or a finer flush in the colours of language, than in this Rubens of English poetry. ... Though his story grows desultory, the sweetness and grace of his manner still abide by him. He is like a speaker whose tones continue to be pleasing, though he may speak too long."

"I remember when I began to read, and to take some pleasure in it, there was wont to lie in my mother's parlour (I know not by what accident, for she herself never in her life read any book but of devotion), but there was wont to lie Spenser's works; this I happened to fall upon, and was infinitely delighted with the stories of the knights, and giants, and monsters, and brave houses, which I found everywhere there (though my understanding had little to do with all this); and by degrees with the tinkling of the rhyme and dance of the numbers, so that I think I had read him all over before I was twelve years old, and was thus made a poet."

"The biography of Spenser is to a great extent a series of assumptions, or of assertions, repeated by one writer after another, but resting originally upon little or no evidence."

"[T]hat matchlesse Poem, The Faery Queen, written by our English Virgil."

"For us Anishinaabe, Biskaabiiyang is a specific term that means “returning to the woods,” because we’re woodland peoples. For example, I grew up growing my “three sisters”—that is, corn, beans, and squash—along the edge of the forest, using what people now call sylvan culture or permaculture. It’s curious how this counters the perspective of classical authors like Dante in early modern Europe or, later, Edmund Spenser, an important Renaissance poet, who view the woods as this terrifying presence. Why is this decolonizing? Because through boarding schools and many other colonial experiences, that fear of the woods creeps in."

"I must acknowledge that Virgil in Latin, and Spenser in English, have been my masters."

"No man was ever born with a greater genius, or had more knowledge to support it."

"His versification is at once the most smooth and the most sounding in the language. It is a labyrinth of sweet sounds...that would cloy by their very sweetness, but that the ear is constantly relieved and enchanted by their continued variety of modulation. ... It is the perfection of melting harmony, dissolving the soul in pleasure or holding it captive in the chains of suspense."

"This poet contains great beauties, a sweet and harmonious versification, easy elocution, a fine imagination: Yet ... it soon becomes a kind of task-reading; and it requires some effort and resolution to carry us on to the end of his long performance. ...the affectations, and conceits, and fopperies of chivalry...appear ridiculous... The tediousness of continued allegory, and that too seldom striking or ingenious, has also contributed to render the Fairy Queen peculiarly tiresome; not to mention the too great frequency of its descriptions, and the languor of its stanza. Upon the whole, Spencer maintains his place in the shelves among our English classics: But he is seldom seen on the table."

"I think that if he had not been a great poet, he would have been a great painter."

"The poets' poet."

"Thee gentle Spenser fondly led, But me he mostly sent to bed."

"I have at last come to the end of the Faerie Queene: and though I say "at last", I almost wish he had lived to write six books more as he had hoped to do — so much have I enjoyed it."

"What he feels on one level, he feels on all. When the good and fair appear to him, the whole man responds; the satyrs gambol, the lances splinter, the shining ones rise up. There is a place for everything and everything is in its place. Nothing is repressed; nothing is insubordinate. To read him is to grow in mental health."

"Elizabeth's arse-kissing poet."

"Our sage and serious poet Spencer, whom I dare be known to think a better teacher than Scotus or Aquinas."

"Spenser was among his [Thomas Gray] favourite poets; and he told me he never sat down to compose poetry without reading Spenser for a considerable time previously."

"The Fairie Queene makes cinema out of the west's primary principle: to see is to know; to know is to control. The Spenserian eye cuts, wounds, rapes."

"The Faerie Queene is the most extended and extensive meditation on sex in the history of poetry. It charts the entire erotic spectrum, a great chain of being rising from matter to spirit, from the coarsest lust to chastity and romantic idealism. The poem’s themes of sex and politics are parallel: the psyche, like society, must be disciplined by good government. Spenser agrees with the classical and Christian philosophers on the primacy of reason over animal appetites. He looks forward to the Romantic poets, however, in the way that he shows the sex impulse as ultimately daemonic and barbaric, breeding witches and sorcerers of evil allure. Like the Odyssey, The Faerie Queene is a heroic epic in which the masculine must evade female traps or delays."

"It is easy to mark out the general course of our poetry. Chaucer, Spenser, Milton, and Dryden, are the great landmarks for it."

"Spenser, I think, may be reckoned the first of our heroic poets. He had a large spirit, a sharp judgment, and a genius for heroic poetry, perhaps above any that ever wrote since Virgil. But our misfortune is, he wanted a true idea, and lost himself by following an unfaithful guide. Though besides Homer and Virgil he had read Tasso, yet he rather suffered himself to be misled by Ariosto, with whom blindly rambling on marvels and adventures, he makes no conscience of probability; all is fanciful and chimerical, without any uniformity, or without any foundation in truth; his poem is perfect fairy land."

"The great master of English versification, incomparably the greatest master in our language."

"Sweet Spenser, sweetest bard; yet not more sweet Than pure was he, and not more pure than wise, High priest of all the Muses' mysteries."

"No poet borrows so much from learned languages as Spencer."

"Sweet Spenser, moving through his clouded heaven With the moon's beauty and the moon's soft pace, I called him Brother, Englishman, and Friend!"

"न रत्नमन्विष्यति मृग्यते हि तत्"

"If a professor thinks what matters most Is to have gained an academic post Where he can earn a livelihood, and then Neglect research, let controversy rest, He's but a petty tradesman at the best, Selling retail the work of other men."

"There in the fane a beauteous creature stands, The first best work of the Creator's hands; Whose slender limbs inadequately bear A full orbed bosom, and a weight of care; Whose teeth like pearls, whose lips like Bimbas show, And fawn-like eyes still tremble as they glow."

"O my good fortune, please subdue the anguish of your Soul. Nobody is destined only to happiness or to pain. The wheel of life takes one up and down by turn."

"God Shiva and his mountain bride, Like word and meaning unified, The world's great parents, I beseech To join fit meaning to my speech."

"O thou who didst create this All, Who dost preserve it, lest it fall, Who wilt destroy it and its ways— To thee, O triune Lord, be praise."

"Though many different paths, O Lord, May lead us to some great reward, They gather and are merged in thee Like floods of Ganges in the sea."

"We have watered the trees that blossom in the summer-time. Now let's sprinkle those whose flowering-time is past. That will be a better deed, because we shall not be working for a reward."

"A thought is as vivid as an act, to a lover."

"Did the great Creator first draw her in a masterpiece, And then touch life into his art? Or did he make her in his mind alone, Drawing on beauty’s every part? No—considering her singular perfection And her maker’s true omnipotence, I suppose her some quite unique creation In femininity’s treasure house."

"A blossom yet unsmelt, A tender shoot unpinched, A gem uncut, Untasted, fresh-fermented honey-wine, The fruit of proper actions Still intact— A beauty without fault or flaw."

"Grief must be shared to be endured."

"What is intended to be said, if left unsaid, becomes a matter of regret later."

"Be brave, and check the rising tears That dim your lovely eyes."

"A bee may be born in a hole in a tree, but she likes the honey of the lotus."

"May lily-dotted lakes delight your eye; May shade-trees bid the heat of noonday cease; May soft winds blow the lotus-pollen nigh; May all your path be pleasantness and peace."

"Because your heart, by loving fancies blinded, Has scorned a guest in pious life grown old, Your lover shall forget you though reminded, Or think of you as of a story told."

"The mind of age is like a lamp Whose oil is running thin; One moment it is shining bright, Then darkness closes in."

"अनुभवति हि मूर्ध्ना पादपस्तीव्रमुष्णं । शमयति परितापं छायया संश्रितानाम् ॥"

"It is just such women, selfish, sweet, false, that entice fools."

"I cannot taste the sweet, and cannot leave it."

"To be a king, is to be a disappointed man."

"A good man never lets grief get the upper hand. The mountains are calm even in a tempest."

"I treated her with scorn and loathing ever; Now o’er her pictured charms my heart will burst: A traveller I, who scorned the mighty river, And seeks in the mirage to quench his thirst."

"A graceful arch of brows above great eyes; Lips bathed in darting, smiling light that flies Reflected from white teeth; a mouth as red As red karkandhu-fruit; love’s brightness shed O’er all her face in bursts of liquid charm— The picture speaks, with living beauty warm."

"The tear drop that once stood trembling on your lower lip —and I watched uncaring, lost in delusion— while it still clings to your gently-curving lashes, I shall now wipe away, my beloved, to free myself of remorse."

"May kingship benefit the land, And wisdom grow in scholars’ band; May Shiva see my faith on earth And make me free of all rebirth."

"The autumn comes, a maiden fair In slenderness and grace, With nodding rice-stems in her hair And lilies in her face. In flowers of grasses she is clad; And as she moves along, Birds greet her with their cooing glad Like bracelets' tinkling song."

"Listen to the Exhortation of the Dawn! Look to this Day! For it is Life, the very Life of Life. In its brief Course lie all the Varieties and Realities of your Existence: The Bliss of Growth, The Glory of Action, The Splendour of Beauty; For Yesterday is but a Dream And Tomorrow is only a Vision; But Today well lived makes Every Yesterday a Dream of Happiness, And every Tomorrow a Vision of Hope. Look well therefore to this Day! Such is the Salutation of the Dawn!"

"L. V. Ramachandra Iyer, Abhigyanashakuntalam (Madras: Oriental Press, 1905)"

"M. R. Kale, Kalidasa's Kumarasambhava Cantos I-VII (Bombay: Standard Publishing Co., 1917)"

"John Brough, Poems from the Sanskrit (London: Penguin, 1968) no. 165"

"Arthur W. Ryder, Kalidasa: Translations of Shakuntala and Other Writings (Everyman's Library, 1920 [1912])"

"Chandra Rajan, Kalidasa: The Loom of Time (Calcutta: Penguin Books, 1989)"

"Horace Hayman Wilson, The Mégha Dúta; or, Cloud Messenger (Calcutta and London, 1814)"

"C. R. Devadhar, Works of Kalidasa II: Poetry (New Delhi: Motilal Banarsidass, 1993 [1984])"

"W. J. Johnson, The Recognition of Sakuntala; Sakuntala in the Mahabharata (New York: Oxford UP, 2001)"

"Where find a soul that does not thrill In Kalidasa’s verse to meet The smooth, inevitable lines Like blossom-clusters, honey-sweet?"

"Kalidasa, the immortal poet and playwright, is a peerless genius whose works have won world-wide fame. The matchless qualities of his work have been lavishly praised both by the ancient Indian critics and modern scholars. ... In modern times the translations of Kalidasa's works in numerous Indian and foreign languages have spread his fame all over the world and now he ranks among the few topmost poets and playwrights of the world."

"Goethe seems to have taken from Kalidasa the idea of a prologue for Faust."

"The first time I came upon this inexhaustible work, it aroused such enthusiasm in me and so held me that I could not stop studying it. I even felt impelled to make the impossible attempt to bring it in some form to the German stage. These efforts were fruitless but they made me so thoroughly acquainted with this most valuable work, it represented such an epoch in my life, I so absorbed it, that for thirty years I did not look at either the English or the German version. It is only now that I understand the enormous impression that work made on me at an earlier age."

"Wouldst thou the young year’s blossoms, and the fruits of its decline, And all by which the soul is charmed, enraptured, feasted, fed; Wouldst thou the Earth and Heaven itself in one sole name combine? I name thee, O Shakuntala! and all at once is said."

"In the whole world of Greek antiquity there is no poetical representation of beautiful love which approaches even afar."

"I cannot easily find a product of human mind more pleasant than this [Shakuntala] ... a real blossom of the Orient, and the first, most beautiful of its kind! Something like that, of course, appears once every two thousand years."

"I advance an opinion that we have few specimens either in classical or modern poetry of more genuine tenderness or delicate feeling."

"Res est solliciti plena timoris amor."

"Iam seges est ubi Troia fuit."

"Tarde quae credita laedunt credimus."

"Exitus acta probat."

"Abeunt studia in mores."

"Siquis amat quod amare iuvat, feliciter ardens Gaudeat, et vento naviget ille suo. At siquis male fert indignae regna puellae, Ne pereat, nostrae sentiat artis opem."

"Principiis obsta; sero medicina paratur Cum mala per longas convaluere moras."

"Qui finem quaeris amoris, Cedit amor rebus; res age, tutus eris."

"Di pia facta vident."

"Est deus in nobis; agitante calescimus illo: impetus hic sacrae semina mentis habet."

"Conscia mens recti famae mendacia risit"

"Militat omnis amans"

"Qui nolet fieri desidiosus, amet!"

"Procul omen abesto!"

"Aequo animo poenam, qui meruere, ferunt."

"Quod licet ingratum est. Quod non licet acrius urit."

"Cui peccare licet, peccat minus."

"Nitimur in vetitum semper, cupimusque negata."

"Sic ego nec sine te nec tecum vivere possum."

"Spectatum veniunt, veniunt spectentur ut ipsae."

"Nocte latent mendae, vitioque ignoscitur omni, Horaque formosam quamlibet illa facit."

"Aut non rem temptes aut perfice."

"Iuppiter ex alto periuria ridet amantum."

"Expedit esse deos, et, ut expedit, esse putemus."

"Neque enim lex aequior ulla est, Quam necis artifices arte perire sua."

"Intret amicitiae nomine tectus amor."

"Ut ameris, amabilis esto."

"Forma bonum fragile est."

"Si nec blanda satis, nec erit tibi comis amanti, Perfer et obdura: postmodo mitis erit. Flectitur obsequio curvatus ab arbore ramus: Frangis, si vires experiere tuas. Obsequio tranantur aquae: nec vincere possis Flumina, si contra, quam rapit unda, nates."

"Pauperibus vates ego sum, quia pauper amavi; Cum dare non possem munera, verba dabam."

"Cede repugnanti; cedendo victor abibis."

"Militiae species amor est."

"Dum novus errat amor, vires sibi colligat usu: Si bene nutrieris, tempore firmus erit. Quem taurum metuis, vitulum mulcere solebas: Sub qua nunc recubas arbore, virga fuit: Nascitur exiguus, sed opes adquirit eundo, Quaque venit, multas accipit amnis aquas."

"Nil adsuetudine maius."

"Da requiem: requietus ager bene credita reddit"

"Quod male fers, adsuesce, feres bene."

"Utendum est aetate: cito pede labitur aetas."

"Nostra sine auxilio fugiunt bona; carpite florem, Qui, nisi carptus erit, turpiter ipse cadet."

"Continua messe senescit ager."

"Casus ubique valet; semper tibi pendeat hamus Quo minime credas gurgite, piscis erit."

"Candida pax homines, trux decet ira feras."

"Est deus in nobis, et sunt commercia caeli: Sedibus aetheriis spiritus ille venit."

"Chaos, rudis indigestaque moles."

"Sanctius his animal mentisque capacius altae Deerat adhuc et quod dominari in cetera posset: Natus homo est."

"Pronaque quum spectent animalia cetera terram, Os homini sublime dedit, coelumque tueri Jussit, et erectos ad sidera tollere vultus."

"Tum pater omnipotens misso perfregit Olympum fulmine et excussit subiectae Pelion Ossae."

"Materiam superabat opus"

"Medio tutissimus ibis."

"Inopem me copia fecit."

"Causa latet, vis est notissima"

"Fas est et ab hoste doceri."

"qui, quoniam prohibent anni bellare, loquendo pugnat et incessit scelerataque devovet arma."

"Usus communis aquarum est. Nec solem proprium natura nec aera fecit nec tenues undas"

"Video meliora, proboque, deteriora sequor."

"Et ignotas animum dimittit in artes."

"Insruit et natum: Medioque ut limite curras, Icare, ait, moneo. Ne, si demissior ibis, Unda gravet pennas; si celsior, ignis adurat. Inter utrumque vola."

"Ille quidem est oculis quamvis formosus iniquis"

"Sunt superis sua iura"

"Supremum vale."

"Quae mea culpa tamen? Nisi si lusisse vocari culpa potest, nisi culpa potest et amasse vocari."

"Ars adeo latet arte sua."

"Nam genus et proavos et quae non fecimus ipsi, Vix ea nostra voco."

"Tibi dextera bello utilis: ingenium est, quod eget moderamine nostro; tu vires sine mente geris, mihi cura futuri; tu pugnare potes, pugnandi tempora mecum eligit Atrides; tu tantum corpore prodes, nos animo; quantoque ratem qui temperat, anteit remigis officium, quanto dux milite maior, tantum ego te supero; nec non in corpore nostro pectora sunt potiora manu: vigor omnis in illis."

"Invia virtuti nulla est via!"

"Ego pulveris hausti ostendens cumulum, quot haberet corpora pulvis, tot mihi natales contingere vana rogavi; excidit, ut peterem iuvenes quoque protinus annos."

"Parcite, mortales, dapibus temerare nefandis corpora! sunt fruges, sunt deducentia ramos pondere poma suo tumidaeque in vitibus uvae, sunt herbae dulces, sunt quae mitescere flamma mollirique queant; nec vobis lacteus umor eripitur, nec mella thymi redolentia florem: prodiga divitias alimentaque mitia tellus suggerit atque epulas sine caede et sanguine praebet."

"Heu quantum scelus est in viscera viscera condi ingestoque avidum pinguescere corpore corpus alteriusque animans animantis vivere leto! Scilicet in tantis opibus, quas, optima matrum, terra parit, nil te nisi tristia mandere saevo vulnera dente iuvat ritusque referre Cyclopum, nec, nisi perdideris alium, placare voracis et male morati poteris ieiunia ventris!"

"Omnia mutantur, nihil interit."

"Tempus edax rerum."

"Nec species sua cuique manet, rerumque novatrix ex aliis alias reparat natura figuras: nec perit in toto quicquam, mihi credite, mundo, sed variat faciemque novat, nascique vocatur incipere esse aliud, quam quod fuit ante, morique desinere illud idem. cum sint huc forsitan illa, haec translata illuc, summa tamen omnia constant."

"Nomenque erit indelebile nostrum."

"Carmina proveniunt animo deducta sereno."

"Donec eris sospes, multos numerabis amicos: tempora si fuerint nubila, solus eris."

"Horrea formicae tendunt ad inania numquam: nullus ad amissas ibit amicus opes."

"Crede mihi, bene qui latuit bene vixit, et intra Fortunam debet quisque manere suam."

"Quo quisque est maior, magis est placabilis irae, et faciles motus mens generosa capit. corpora magnanimo satis est prostrasse leoni, pugna suum finem, cum iacet hostis, habet: at lupus et turpes instant morientibus ursi et quaecumque minor nobilitate fera. maius apud Troiam forti quid habemus Achille? Dardanii lacrimas non tulit ille senis."

"Vivere me dices, sed sic ut vivere nolim"

"Estque pati poenam quam meruisse minus."

"Difficile est, fateor, sed tendit in ardua virtus et talis meriti gratia maior erit."

"Turpe quidem dictu, sed, si modo vera fatemur, vulgus amicitias utilitate probat."

"Nec facile invenias multis in milibus unum, virtutem pretium qui putet esse sui. ipse decor, recte facti si praemia desint, non movet, et gratis paenitet esse probum. nil nisi quod prodest carum est."

"Adde quod ingenuas didicisse fideliter artes emollit mores nec sinit esse feros."

"Laeta fere laetus cecini, cano tristia tristis."

"The fittest for my wound, Who best the gentle passions knows to move; Ovid, the soft philosopher of love: His Love Epistles for my friends I chose; For there I found the kindred of my woes."

"One often hears: that is good but it belongs to yesterday. But I say: yesterday has not yet been born. It has not yet really existed. I want Ovid, Pushkin, and Catullus to live once more, and I am not satisfied with the historical Ovid, Pushkin, and Catullus."

"Here are only numbers ratified; but, for the elegancy, facility, and golden cadence of poesy, caret. Ovidius Naso was the man: and why, indeed, Naso, but for smelling out the odoriferous flowers of fancy, the jerks of invention?"

"To my fancy, the first poet of all antiquity."

"He is the best of all who thinks for himself in all things. He, too, is good who takes advice from a wiser (person). But he who neither thinks for himself, nor lays to heart another's wisdom, this is a useless man.’"

"Γαστέρες οἶον."

"We know how to speak many falsehoods which resemble real things, but we know, when we will, how to speak true things."

"On the tongue of such an one they shed a honeyed dew, and from his lips drop gentle words."

"Ἠδ᾽ Ἔρος, ὃς κάλλιστος ἐν ἀθανάτοισι θεοῖσι, λυσιμελής, πάντων δὲ θεῶν πάντων τ᾽ ἀνθρώπων δάμναται ἐν στήθεσσι νόον καὶ ἐπίφρονα βουλήν."

"Ὅς κε γάμον φεύγων καὶ μέρμερα ἔργα γυναικῶν μὴ γῆμαι ἐθέλῃ, ὀλοὸν δ᾽ ἐπὶ γῆρας ἵκοιτο χήτεϊ γηροκόμοιο."

"Ὣς οὐκ ἔστι Διὸς κλέψαι νόον οὐδὲ παρελθεῖν."

"Night, having Sleep, the brother of Death."

"Ἔνθα δὲ Νυκτὸς παῖδες ἐρεμνῆς οἰκί᾽ ἔχουσιν, Ὕπνος καὶ Θάνατος, δεινοὶ θεοί"

"From whose eyelids also as they gazed dropped love."

"There was not after all a single kind of strife, but on earth there are two kinds: one of them a man might praise when he recognized her, but the other is blameworthy."

"ζηλοῖ δέ τε γείτονα γείτων εἰς ἄφενος σπεύδοντ᾽· ἀγαθὴ δ᾽ Ἔρις ἥδε βροτοῖσιν."

"Καὶ κεραμεὺς κεραμεῖ κοτέει καὶ τέκτονι τέκτων, καὶ πτωχὸς πτωχῷ φθονέει καὶ ἀοιδὸς ἀοιδῷ."

"Nήπιοι, οὐδὲ ἴσασιν ὅσῳ πλέον ἥμισυ παντός."

"Αἶψα γὰρ ἐν κακότητι βροτοὶ καταγηράσκουσιν."

"Αλλα δὲ μυρία λυγρὰ κατ᾽ ἀνθρώπους ἀλάληται· πλείη μὲν γὰρ γαῖα κακῶν, πλείη δὲ θάλασσα."

"For full indeed is earth of woes, and full the sea; and in the day as well as night diseases unbidden haunt mankind, silently bearing ills to men, for all-wise Zeus hath taken from them their voice. So utterly impossible is it to escape the will of Zeus."

"Χρύσεον μὲν πρώτιστα γένος μερόπων ἀνθρώπων ἀθάνατοι ποίησαν Ὀλύμπια δώματ᾽ ἔχοντες. οἱ μὲν ἐπὶ Κρόνου ἦσαν, ὅτ᾽ οὐρανῷ ἐμβασίλευεν· ὥστε θεοὶ δ᾽ ἔζωον ἀκηδέα θυμὸν ἔχοντες, νόσφιν ἄτερ τε πόνων καὶ ὀιζύος· οὐδέ τι δειλὸν γῆρας ἐπῆν."

"They died, as if o'ercome by sleep."

"Ἄφρων δ᾽, ὅς κ᾽ ἐθέλῃ πρὸς κρείσσονας ἀντιφερίζειν· νίκης τε στέρεται πρός τ᾽ αἴσχεσιν ἄλγεα πάσχει."

"Παθὼν δέ τε νήπιος ἔγνω."

"Οἳ δὲ δίκας ξείνοισι καὶ ἐνδήμοισι διδοῦσιν ἰθείας καὶ μή τι παρεκβαίνουσι δικαίου, τοῖσι τέθηλε πόλις, λαοὶ δ᾽ ἀνθεῦσιν ἐν αὐτῇ."

"Often an entire city has suffered because of an evil man."

"Ἐγγὺς γὰρ ἐν ἀνθρώποισιν ἐόντες ἀθάνατοι φράζονται, ὅσοι σκολιῇσι δίκῃσιν ἀλλήλους τρίβουσι θεῶν ὄπιν οὐκ ἀλέγοντες."

"Ὄφρ᾽ ἀποτείσῃ δῆμος ἀτασθαλίας βασιλέων, οἳ λυγρὰ νοεῦντες ἄλλῃ παρκλίνωσι δίκας σκολιῶς ἐνέποντες."

"οἷ γ᾽ αὐτῷ κακὰ τεύχει ἀνὴρ ἄλλῳ κακὰ τεύχων ἡ δὲ κακὴ βουλὴ τῷ βουλεύσαντι κακίστη."

"Ἐπεὶ κακὸν ἄνδρα δίκαιον ἔμμεναι, εἰ μείζω γε δίκην ἀδικώτερος ἕξει."

"Ἀνδρὸς δ᾽ εὐόρκου γενεὴ μετόπισθεν ἀμείνων."

"Badness you can get easily, in quantity: the road is smooth, and it lies close by. But in front of excellence the immortal gods have put sweat, and long and steep is the way to it, and rough at first. But when you come to the top, then it is easy, even though it is hard."

"Οὗτος μὲν πανάριστος, ὃς αὐτὸς πάντα νοήσει, φρασσάμενος, τά κ᾽ ἔπειτα καὶ ἐς τέλος ᾖσιν ἀμείνω· ἐσθλὸς δ᾽ αὖ καὶ κεῖνος, ὃς εὖ εἰπόντι πίθηται· ὃς δέ κε μήτ᾽ αὐτὸς νοέῃ μήτ᾽ ἄλλου ἀκούων ἐν θυμῷ βάλληται, ὁ δ᾽ αὖτ᾽ ἀχρῄος ἀνήρ."

"Λιμὸς γάρ τοι πάμπαν ἀεργῷ σύμφορος ἀνδρί."

"Let it please thee to keep in order a moderate-sized farm, that so thy garners may be full of fruits in their season."

"Ἔργον δ᾽ οὐδὲν ὄνειδος, ἀεργίη δέ τ᾽ ὄνειδος."

"Χρήματα δ᾽ οὐχ ἁρπακτά· θεόσδοτα πολλὸν ἀμείνω."

"Invite the man that loves thee to a feast, but let alone thine enemy."

"Πῆμα κακὸς γείτων, ὅσσον τ᾽ ἀγαθὸς μέγ᾽ ὄνειαρ."

"μὴ κακὰ κερδαίνειν: κακὰ κέρδεα ἶσ᾽ ἀάτῃσιν"

"Εἰ γάρ κεν καὶ σμικρὸν ἐπὶ σμικρῷ καταθεῖο καὶ θαμὰ τοῦτ᾽ ἔρδοις, τάχα κεν μέγα καὶ τὸ γένοιτο."

"Οἴκοι βέλτερον εἶναι."

"Take your fill when the cask is first opened and when it is nearly spent, but midways be sparing: it is poor saving when you come to the lees."

"Let the price fixed with a friend be sufficient, and even dealing with a brother call in witnesses, but laughingly."

"Πίστεις ἄρ τοι ὁμῶς καὶ ἀπιστίαι ὤλεσαν ἄνδρας."

"μὴ δὲ γυνή σε νόον πυγοστόλος ἐξαπατάτω αἱμύλα κωτίλλουσα, τεὴν διφῶσα καλιήν."

"Ὃς δὲ γυναικὶ πέποιθε, πέποιθ᾽ ὅ γε φηλήτῃσιν."

"Ἐργάζευ, νήπιε Πέρση, ἔργα, τά τ᾽ ἀνθρώποισι θεοὶ διετεκμήραντο, μή ποτε σὺν παίδεσσι γυναικί τε θυμὸν ἀχεύων ζητεύῃς βίοτον κατὰ γείτονας, οἳ δ᾽ ἀμελῶσιν."

"Μηδ᾽ ἀναβάλλεσθαι ἔς τ᾽ αὔριον ἔς τε ἔνηφιν· οὐ γὰρ ἐτωσιοεργὸς ἀνὴρ πίμπλησι καλιὴν οὐδ᾽ ἀναβαλλόμενος· μελέτη δὲ τὸ ἔργον ὀφέλλει· αἰεὶ δ᾽ ἀμβολιεργὸς ἀνὴρ ἄτῃσι παλαίει."

"Diligence increaseth the fruit of toil. A dilatory man wrestles with losses."

"Οὐκ αἰεὶ θέρος ἐσσεῖται· ποιεῖσθε καλιάς."

"The dawn speeds a man on his journey, and speeds him too in his work."

"Nῆ᾽ ὀλίγην αἰνεῖν, μεγάλῃ δ᾽ ἐνὶ φορτία θέσθαι· μείζων μὲν φόρτος, μεῖζον δ᾽ ἐπὶ κέρδει κέρδος ἔσσεται, εἴ κ᾽ ἄνεμοί γε κακὰς ἀπέχωσιν ἀήτας."

"Μέτρα φυλάσσεσθαι· καιρὸς δ᾽ ἐπὶ πᾶσιν ἄριστος."

"Ὡραῖος δὲ γυναῖκα τεὸν ποτὶ οἶκον ἄγεσθαι, μήτε τριηκόντων ἐτέων μάλα πόλλ᾽ ἀπολείπων μήτ᾽ ἐπιθεὶς μάλα πολλά· γάμος δέ τοι ὥριος οὗτος."

"Οὐ μὲν γάρ τι γυναικὸς ἀνὴρ ληίζετ᾽ ἄμεινον τῆς ἀγαθῆς, τῆς δ᾽ αὖτε κακῆς οὐ ῥίγιον ἄλλο."

"Neither make thy friend equal to a brother; but if thou shalt have made him so, be not the first to do him wrong."

"Μηδὲ πολύξεινον μηδ᾽ ἄξεινον καλέεσθαι, μηδὲ κακῶν ἕταρον μηδ᾽ ἐσθλῶν νεικεστῆρα."

"Γλώσσης τοι θησαυρὸς ἐν ἀνθρώποισιν ἄριστος φειδωλῆς."

"Φήμη γάρ τε κακὴ πέλεται, κούφη μὲν ἀεῖραι ῥεῖα μάλ᾽, ἀργαλέη δὲ φέρειν, χαλεπὴ δ᾽ ἀποθέσθαι. φήμη δ᾽ οὔ τις πάμπαν ἀπόλλυται, ἥν τινα πολλοὶ λαοὶ φημίξωσι· θεός νύ τίς ἐστι καὶ αὐτή."

"Ἄλλοτε μητρυιὴ πέλει ἡμέρη, ἄλλοτε μήτηρ."

"And she conceived and bore to Zeus, who delights in the thunderbolt, two sons, Magnes and Macedon, rejoicing in horses, who dwell round about Pieria and Olympus."

"I see no hope for the future of our people if they are dependent on frivolous youth of today, for certainly all youth are reckless beyond words... When I was young, we were taught to be discreet and respectful of elders, but the present youth are exceedingly disrespectful and impatient of restraint."

"The gods have placed sweat as the price of all things."

""What was at the beginning?" Gigon said of Hesiod, "is the question of history precisely at the point where it turns into philosophy... The question Hesiod poses is no longer about the historical past, but about the beginning of what exists, the question of philosophical origins..." But "history" is wholly out of place here. Hesiod is foreshadowing the step from mythos to logos, and that step was not mediated by history. It bypassed history altogether. It moved from the timelessness of myth to the timelessness of metaphysics."

"The Works and Days expressed the present. The new poetry expresses the person in the present, the particular individual and how he is different from others. And celebrates the difference. And as it does so, we can trace a progressive filling out and stretching of the earlier preconscious hypostases into the mind space of consciousness."

"Μῆνιν ἄειδε, θεά, Πηληϊάδεω Ἀχιλῆος οὐλομένην, ἣ μυρί᾽ Ἀχαιοῖς ἄλγε᾽ ἔθηκε, πολλὰς δ᾽ ἰφθίμους ψυχὰς Ἄϊδι προΐαψεν ἡρώων, αὐτοὺς δὲ ἑλώρια τεῦχε κύνεσσιν οἰωνοῖσί τε πᾶσι."

"Διὸς δ’ ἐτελείετο βουλή."

"Ἄναξ ἀνδρῶν."

"Παρὰ θῖνα πολυφλοίσβοιο θαλάσσης."

"Καὶ γάρ τ' ὄναρ ἐκ Διός ἐστιν."

"Ἔπεα πτερόεντα."

"Ὅς κε θεοῖς ἐπιπείθηται μάλα τ' ἔκλυον αὐτοῦ."

"Οἰνοβαρές, κυνὸς ὄμματ' ἔχων, κραδίην δ' ἐλάφοιο."

"Τοῦ καὶ ἀπὸ γλώσσης μέλιτος γλυκίων ῥέεν αὐδή."

"Οὐδέ τι οἶδε νοῆσαι ἅμα πρόσσω καὶ ὀπίσσω."

"Ῥοδοδάκτυλος Ἠώς."

"Ἦ καὶ κυανέῃσιν ἐπ' ὀφρύσι νεῦσε Κρονίων· ἀμβρόσιαι δ' ἄρα χαῖται ἐπεῤῥώσαντο ἄνακτος κρατὸς ἀπ' ἀθανάτοιο· μέγαν δ' ἐλέλιξεν Ὄλυμπον."

"Ἄσβεστος δ' ἄρ' ἐνῶρτο γέλως μακάρεσσι θεοῖσιν ὡς ἴδον Ἥφαιστον διὰ δώματα ποιπνύοντα."

"Οὐκ ἀγαθὸν πολυκοιρανίη· εἷς κοίρανος ἔστω, εἷς βασιλεύς."

"Μένεα πνείοντες."

"Μή μοι δῶρ' ἐρατὰ πρόφερε χρυσέης Ἀφροδίτης· οὔ τοι ἀπόβλητ' ἐστὶ θεῶν ἐρικυδέα δῶρα ὅσσά κεν αὐτοὶ δῶσιν, ἑκὼν δ' οὐκ ἄν τις ἕλοιτο."

"Αἰεὶ δ' ὁπλοτέρων ἀνδρῶν φρένες ἠερέθονται· οἷς δ' ὁ γέρων μετέῃσιν ἅμα πρόσσω καὶ ὀπίσσω λεύσσει, ὅπως ὄχ' ἄριστα μετ' ἀμφοτέροισι γένηται."

"Οὐ νέμεσις Τρῶας καὶ ἐϋκνήμιδας Ἀχαιοὺς τοιῇδ' ἀμφὶ γυναικὶ πολὺν χρόνον ἄλγεα πάσχειν· αἰνῶς ἀθανάτῃσι θεῇς εἰς ὦπα ἔοικεν."

"Ἀλλ' ὅτε δὴ ὄπα τε μεγάλην ἐκ στήθεος εἵη καὶ ἔπεα νιφάδεσσιν ἐοικότα χειμερίῃσιν, ἂν ἔπειτ' Ὀδυσῆΐ γ' ἐρίσσειε βροτὸς ἄλλος· οὐ τότε γ' ὧδ' Ὀδυσῆος ἀγασσάμεθ' εἶδος ἰδόντες."

"Ἠέλιός θ', ὃς πάντ' ἐφορᾷς καὶ πάντ' ἐπακούεις."

"Ἔσσεται ἦμαρ ὅτ' ἄν ποτ' ὀλώλῃ Ἴλιος ἱρὴ καὶ Πρίαμος καὶ λαὸς ἐϋμμελίω Πριάμοιο."

"Τῷ μὲν κλέος, ἄμμι δὲ πένθος."

"Ἀλλ' οὔ πως ἅμα πάντα θεοὶ δόσαν ἀνθρώποισιν."

"Τὸν δ' ἄρ' ὑπόδρα ἰδὼν προσέφη πολύμητις Ὀδυσσεύς· Ἀτρεΐδη ποῖόν σε ἔπος φύγεν ἕρκος ὀδόντων."

"Ἥ τ' ὀλίγη μὲν πρῶτα κορύσσεται, αὐτὰρ ἔπειτα οὐρανῷ ἐστήριξε κάρη καὶ ἐπὶ χθονὶ βαίνει."

"Ὅττι μάλ' οὐ δηναιὸς ὃς ἀθανάτοισι μάχηται, οὐδέ τί μιν παῖδες ποτὶ γούνασι παππάζουσιν ἐκ πολέμοιο καὶ αἰνῆς δηϊοτῆτος."

"Μηδὲ θεοῖσιν ἶσ' ἔθελε φρονέειν, ἐπεὶ οὔ ποτε φῦλον ὁμοῖον ἀθανάτων τε θεῶν χαμαὶ ἐρχομένων τ' ἀνθρώπων."

"Τοίω τὼ χείρεσσιν ὑπ' Αἰνείαο δαμέντε καππεσέτην, ἐλάτῃσιν ἐοικότες ὑψηλῇσι."

"Στέντορι εἰσαμένη μεγαλήτορι χαλκεοφώνῳ, ὃς τόσον αὐδήσασχ' ὅσον ἄλλοι πεντήκοντα."

"Εἰ δέ τίς ἐσσι βροτῶν οἳ ἀρούρης καρπὸν ἔδουσιν, ἆσσον ἴθ' ὥς κεν θᾶσσον ὀλέθρου πείραθ' ἵκηαι."

"Οἵη περ φύλλων γενεὴ τοίη δὲ καὶ ἀνδρῶν. φύλλα τὰ μέν τ' ἄνεμος χαμάδις χέει, ἄλλα δέ θ' ὕλη τηλεθόωσα φύει, ἔαρος δ' ἐπιγίγνεται ὥρη· ὣς ἀνδρῶν γενεὴ ἣ μὲν φύει ἣ δ' ἀπολήγει."

"Αἰὲν ἀριστεύειν καὶ ὑπείροχον ἔμμεναι ἄλλων."

"Ὣς ἄρα φωνήσαντε καθ' ἵππων ἀΐξαντε χεῖράς τ' ἀλλήλων λαβέτην καὶ πιστώσαντο· ἔνθ' αὖτε Γλαύκῳ Κρονίδης φρένας ἐξέλετο Ζεύς, ὃς πρὸς Τυδεΐδην Διομήδεα τεύχε' ἄμειβε χρύσεα χαλκείων, ἑκατόμβοι' ἐννεαβοίων."

"Ἀνδρὶ δὲ κεκμηῶτι μένος μέγα οἶνος ἀέξει."

"Νίκη δ᾽ ἐπαμείβεται ἄνδρας."

"Καί ποτέ τις εἴποι πατρός γ' ὅδε πολλὸν ἀμείνων."

"Δακρυόεν γελάσασα."

"Μοῖραν δ' οὔ τινά φημι πεφυγμένον ἔμμεναι ἀνδρῶν, οὐ κακὸν οὐδὲ μὲν ἐσθλόν, ἐπὴν τὰ πρῶτα γένηται."

"Αἴδεσθεν μὲν ἀνήνασθαι, δεῖσαν δ' ὑποδέχθαι."

"Ἀλλ' ὑμεῖς μὲν πάντες ὕδωρ καὶ γαῖα γένοισθε ἥμενοι αὖθι ἕκαστοι ἀκήριοι ἀκλεὲς αὔτως."

"Μήκων δ' ὡς ἑτέρωσε κάρη βάλεν, ἥ τ' ἐνὶ κήπῳ καρπῷ βριθομένη νοτίῃσί τε εἰαρινῇσιν, ὣς ἑτέρωσ' ἤμυσε κάρη πήληκι βαρυνθέν."

"Ἐν δ' ἔπεσ' Ὠκεανῷ λαμπρὸν φάος ἠελίοιο ἕλκον νύκτα μέλαιναν ἐπὶ ζείδωρον ἄρουραν."

"Ὡς δ' ὅτ' ἐν οὐρανῷ ἄστρα φαεινὴν ἀμφὶ σελήνην φαίνετ' ἀριπρεπέα, ὅτε τ' ἔπλετο νήνεμος αἰθήρ· ἔκ τ' ἔφανεν πᾶσαι σκοπιαὶ καὶ πρώονες ἄκροι καὶ νάπαι· οὐρανόθεν δ' ἄρ' ὑπεῤῥάγη ἄσπετος αἰθήρ, πάντα δὲ εἴδεται ἄστρα, γέγηθε δέ τε φρένα ποιμήν."

"Ἀφρήτωρ ἀθέμιστος ἀνέστιός ἐστιν ἐκεῖνος ὃς πολέμου ἔραται ἐπιδημίου ὀκρυόεντος."

"Ἐχθρὸς γάρ μοι κεῖνος ὁμῶς Ἀΐδαο πύλῃσιν ὅς χ' ἕτερον μὲν κεύθῃ ἐνὶ φρεσίν, ἄλλο δὲ εἴπῃ."

"Κάτθαν' ὁμῶς ὅ τ' ἀεργὸς ἀνὴρ ὅ τε πολλὰ ἐοργώς."

"Ἀνδρὸς δὲ ψυχὴ πάλιν ἐλθεῖν οὔτε λεϊστὴ οὔθ' ἑλετή, ἐπεὶ ἄρ κεν ἀμείψεται ἕρκος ὀδόντων."

"εἰ μέν κ᾽ αὖθι μένων Τρώων πόλιν ἀμφιμάχωμαι, ὤλετο μέν μοι νόστος, ἀτὰρ κλέος ἄφθιτον ἔσται."

"Μύθων τε ῥητῆρ' ἔμεναι πρηκτῆρά τε ἔργων."

"Καὶ γάρ τε λιταί εἰσι Διὸς κοῦραι μεγάλοιο χωλαί τε ῥυσαί τε παραβλῶπές τ' ὀφθαλμώ, αἵ ῥά τε καὶ μετόπισθ' ἄτης ἀλέγουσι κιοῦσαι."

"Ἐπὶ ξυροῦ ἵσταται ἀκμῆς ...ὄλεθρος...Ἀχαιοῖς ἠὲ βιῶναι."

"Ἰητρὸς γὰρ ἀνὴρ πολλῶν ἀντάξιος ἄλλων ἰούς τ' ἐκτάμνειν ἐπί τ' ἤπια φάρμακα πάσσειν."

"Εἷς οἰωνὸς ἄριστος ἀμύνεσθαι περὶ πάτρης."

"Ὦ πέπον εἰ μὲν γὰρ πόλεμον περὶ τόνδε φυγόντε αἰεὶ δὴ μέλλοιμεν ἀγήρω τ' ἀθανάτω τε ἔσσεσθ', οὔτέ κεν αὐτὸς ἐνὶ πρώτοισι μαχοίμην οὔτέ κε σὲ στέλλοιμι μάχην ἐς κυδιάνειραν· νῦν δ' ἔμπης γὰρ κῆρες ἐφεστᾶσιν θανάτοιο μυρίαι, ἃς οὐκ ἔστι φυγεῖν βροτὸν οὐδ' ὑπαλύξαι, ἴομεν ἠέ τῳ εὖχος ὀρέξομεν ἠέ τις ἡμῖν."

"Φράξαντες δόρυ δουρί, σάκος σάκεϊ προθελύμνῳ· ἀσπὶς ἄρ' ἀσπίδ' ἔρειδε, κόρυς κόρυν, ἀνέρα δ' ἀνήρ."

"Τοὶ δ' ἔριδος κρατερῆς καὶ ὁμοιΐου πτολέμοιο πεῖραρ ἐπαλλάξαντες ἐπ' ἀμφοτέροισι τάνυσσαν ἄῤῥηκτόν τ' ἄλυτόν τε, τὸ πολλῶν γούνατ' ἔλυσεν."

"Ἄλλῳ μὲν γὰρ ἔδωκε θεὸς πολεμήϊα ἔργα, ἄλλῳ δ' ὀρχηστύν, ἑτέρῳ κίθαριν καὶ ἀοιδήν, ἄλλῳ δ' ἐν στήθεσσι τιθεῖ νόον εὐρύοπα Ζεὺς ἐσθλόν, τοῦ δέ τε πολλοὶ ἐπαυρίσκοντ' ἄνθρωποι."

"Οὐ γάρ τις νέμεσις φυγέειν κακόν, οὐδ' ἀνὰ νύκτα. βέλτερον ὃς φεύγων προφύγῃ κακὸν ἠὲ ἁλώῃ."

"Ἔνθ' ἔνι μὲν φιλότης, ἐν δ' ἵμερος, ἐν δ' ὀαριστὺς πάρφασις, ἥ τ' ἔκλεψε νόον πύκα περ φρονεόντων."

"Ἔνθ' Ὕπνῳ ξύμβλητο κασιγνήτῳ Θανάτοιο."

"Ὕπνε ἄναξ πάντων τε θεῶν πάντων τ' ἀνθρώπων."

"Ῥεῖα δ' ἀρίγνωτος Διὸς ἀνδράσι γίγνεται ἀλκή."

"Οὔ οἱ ἀεικὲς ἀμυνομένῳ περὶ πάτρης τεθνάμεν."

"Αἰδομένων δ' ἀνδρῶν πλέονες σόοι ἠὲ πέφανται· φευγόντων δ' οὔτ' ἂρ κλέος ὄρνυται οὔτέ τις ἀλκή."

"Ἀλλ' εἰ δή ῥα τότε βλάπτε φρένας εὐρύοπα Ζεὺς ἡμετέρας, νῦν αὐτὸς ἐποτρύνει καὶ ἀνώγει."

"Ἐν γὰρ χερσὶ τέλος πολέμου, ἐπέων δ' ἐνὶ βουλῇ."

"Πέμπε δέ μιν πομποῖσιν ἅμα κραιπνοῖσι φέρεσθαι ὕπνῳ καὶ θανάτῳ διδυμάοσιν, οἵ ῥά μιν ὦκα θήσουσ' ἐν Λυκίης εὐρείης πίονι δήμῳ."

"Ἀλλ' αἰεί τε Διὸς κρείσσων νόος ἠέ περ ἀνδρῶν."

"Ὃ δ' ἐν στροφάλιγγι κονίης κεῖτο μέγας μεγαλωστί, λελασμένος ἱπποσυνάων."

"I am foremost of all the Trojan warriors to stave the day of bondage from off them; as for you, vultures shall devour you here."

"I say further, and lay my saying to your heart, you too shall live but for a little season; death and the day of your doom are close upon you, and they will lay you low by the hand of Achilles son of Aiakos."

"Ῥεχθὲν δέ τε νήπιος ἔγνω."

"Οὐ μὲν γάρ τί πού ἐστιν ὀϊζυρώτερον ἀνδρὸς πάντων, ὅσσά τε γαῖαν ἔπι πνείει τε καὶ ἕρπει."

"Ἥσω γὰρ καὶ ἐγώ, τὰ δέ κεν Διὶ πάντα μελήσει."

"Ὡς ἔρις ἔκ τε θεῶν ἔκ τ' ἀνθρώπων ἀπόλοιτο καὶ χόλος, ὅς τ' ἐφέηκε πολύφρονά περ χαλεπῆναι, ὅς τε πολὺ γλυκίων μέλιτος καταλειβομένοιο ἀνδρῶν ἐν στήθεσσιν ἀέξεται ἠΰτε καπνός."

"Ἀλλ' οὐ Ζεὺς ἄνδρεσσι νοήματα πάντα τελευτᾷ."

"Θεὸς διὰ πάντα τελευτᾷ."

"Οὐ γὰρ ἀνὴρ πρόπαν ἦμαρ ἐς ἠέλιον καταδύντα ἄκμηνος σίτοιο δυνήσεται ἄντα μάχεσθαι."

"Στρεπτὴ δὲ γλῶσσ' ἐστὶ βροτῶν, πολέες δ' ἔνι μῦθοι παντοῖοι, ἐπέων δὲ πολὺς νομὸς ἔνθα καὶ ἔνθα."

"Ἀλλ' ἔπι τοι καὶ ἐμοὶ θάνατος καὶ μοῖρα κραταιή· ἔσσεται ἢ ἠὼς ἢ δείλη ἢ μέσον ἦμαρ ὁππότε τις καὶ ἐμεῖο Ἄρῃ ἐκ θυμὸν ἕληται ἢ ὅ γε δουρὶ βαλὼν ἢ ἀπὸ νευρῆφιν ὀϊστῷ."

"Ἐννοσίγαι' οὐκ ἄν με σαόφρονα μυθήσαιο ἔμμεναι, εἰ δὴ σοί γε βροτῶν ἕνεκα πτολεμίξω δειλῶν, οἳ φύλλοισιν ἐοικότες ἄλλοτε μέν τε ζαφλεγέες τελέθουσιν ἀρούρης καρπὸν ἔδοντες, ἄλλοτε δὲ φθινύθουσιν ἀκήριοι."

"Ὡς οὐκ ἔστι λέουσι καὶ ἀνδράσιν ὅρκια πιστά, οὐδὲ λύκοι τε καὶ ἄρνες ὁμόφρονα θυμὸν ἔχουσιν."

"Νῦν αὖτέ με μοῖρα κιχάνει. μὴ μὰν ἀσπουδί γε καὶ ἀκλειῶς ἀπολοίμην, ἀλλὰ μέγα ῥέξας τι καὶ ἐσσομένοισι πυθέσθαι."

"Μή με κύον γούνων γουνάζεο μὴ δὲ τοκήων."

"Ὢ πόποι ἦ ῥά τίς ἐστι καὶ εἰν Ἀΐδαο δόμοισι ψυχὴ καὶ εἴδωλον, ἀτὰρ φρένες οὐκ ἔνι πάμπαν."

"Μήτι τοι δρυτόμος μέγ' ἀμείνων ἠὲ βίηφι· μήτι δ' αὖτε κυβερνήτης ἐνὶ οἴνοπι πόντῳ νῆα θοὴν ἰθύνει ἐρεχθομένην ἀνέμοισι· μήτι δ' ἡνίοχος περιγίγνεται ἡνιόχοιο."

"Τλητὸν γὰρ Μοῖραι θυμὸν θέσαν ἀνθρώποισιν."

"Ἄγχι δ' ἄρα στὰς ... χερσὶν Ἀχιλλῆος λάβε γούνατα καὶ κύσε χεῖρας δεινὰς ἀνδροφόνους, αἵ οἱ πολέας κτάνον υἷας."

"Ἔτλην δ' οἷ' οὔ πώ τις ἐπιχθόνιος βροτὸς ἄλλος, ἀνδρὸς παιδοφόνοιο ποτὶ στόμα χεῖρ' ὀρέγεσθαι."

"Ἄλγεα δ' ἔμπης ἐν θυμῷ κατακεῖσθαι ἐάσομεν ἀχνύμενοί περ· οὐ γάρ τις πρῆξις πέλεται κρυεροῖο γόοιο· ὡς γὰρ ἐπεκλώσαντο θεοὶ δειλοῖσι βροτοῖσι ζώειν ἀχνυμένοις· αὐτοὶ δέ τ' ἀκηδέες εἰσί."

"Καὶ σὲ γέρον τὸ πρὶν μὲν ἀκούομεν ὄλβιον εἶναι."

"Ἄνδρα μοι ἔννεπε, Μοῦσα, πολύτροπον, ὃς μάλα πολλὰ πλάγχθη, ἐπεὶ Τροίης ἱερὸν πτολίεθρον ἔπερσε· πολλῶν δ’ ἀνθρώπων ἴδεν ἄστεα καὶ νόον ἔγνω, πολλὰ δ’ ὅ γ’ ἐν πόντῳ πάθεν ἄλγεα ὃν κατὰ θυμόν, ἀρνύμενος ἥν τε ψυχὴν καὶ νόστον ἑταίρων."

"Αὐτῶν γὰρ σφετέρῃσιν ἀτασθαλίῃσιν ὄλοντο."

"ὢ πόποι, οἷον δή νυ θεοὺς βροτοὶ αἰτιόωνται. ἐξ ἡμέων γάρ φασι κάκ' ἔμμεναι· οἱ δὲ καὶ αὐτοὶ σφῇσιν ἀτασθαλίῃσιν ὑπὲρ μόρον ἄλγε' ἔχουσιν."

"Ἱέμενος καὶ καπνὸν ἀποθρῴσκοντα νοῆσαι ἧς γαίης, θανέειν ἱμείρεται."

"Οὐκ οἶδ'· οὐ γάρ πώ τις ἑὸν γόνον αὐτὸς ἀνέγνω."

"Ταῦτα θεῶν ἐν γούνασι κεῖται."

"Παῦροι γάρ τοι παῖδες ὁμοῖοι πατρὶ πέλονται, οἱ πλέονες κακίους, παῦροι δέ τε πατρὸς ἀρείους."

"Τοῖσιν δ' ἴκμενον οὖρον ἵει γλαυκῶπις Ἀθήνη, ἀκραῆ ζέφυρον, κελάδοντ' ἐπὶ οἴνοπα πόντον."

"Τηλέμαχ', ἄλλα μὲν αὐτὸς ἐνὶ φρεσὶ σῇσι νοήσεις, ἄλλα δὲ καὶ δαίμων ὑποθήσεται."

"Πάντες δὲ θεῶν χατέουσ' ἄνθρωποι."

"Ψεῦδος δ' οὐκ ἐρέει· μάλα γὰρ πεπνυμένος ἐστίν."

"Νεμεσσῶμαί γε μὲν οὐδὲν κλαίειν, ὅς κε θάνῃσι βροτῶν καὶ πότμον ἐπίσπῃ. τοῦτό νυ καὶ γέρας οἶον ὀϊζυροῖσι βροτοῖσι, κείρασθαί τε κόμην βαλέειν τ' ἀπὸ δάκρυ παρειῶν."

"θεοὶ δέ τε πάντα ἴσασιν."

"Οὐδέ μοι αὐτῇ θυμὸς ἐνὶ στήθεσσι σιδήρεος, ἀλλ' ἐλεήμων."

"Ἀλλὰ καὶ ὧς ἐθέλω καὶ ἐέλδομαι ἤματα πάντα οἴκαδέ τ' ἐλθέμεναι καὶ νόστιμον ἦμαρ ἰδέσθαι."

"Τλήσομαι ἐν στήθεσσιν ἔχων ταλαπενθέα θυμόν· ἤδη γὰρ μάλα πολλὰ πάθον καὶ πολλὰ μόγησα."

"Σοὶ δὲ θεοὶ τόσα δοῖεν, ὅσα φρεσὶ σῇσι μενοινᾷς, ἄνδρα τε καὶ οἶκον, καὶ ὁμοφροσύνην ὀπάσειαν ἐσθλήν· οὐ μὲν γὰρ τοῦ γε κρεῖσσον καὶ ἄρειον, ἢ ὅθ' ὁμοφρονέοντε νοήμασιν οἶκον ἔχητον ἀνὴρ ἠδὲ γυνή· πόλλ' ἄλγεα δυσμενέεσσι, χάρματα δ' εὐμενέτῃσι· μάλιστα δέ τ' ἔκλυον αὐτοί."

"Ζεὺς δ' αὐτὸς νέμει ὄλβον Ὀλύμπιος ἀνθρώποισιν, ἐσθλοῖσ' ἠδὲ κακοῖσιν, ὅπως ἐθέλῃσιν, ἑκάστῳ."

"Οὐ γάρ τι στυγερῇ ἐπὶ γαστέρι κύντερον ἄλλο ἔπλετο, ἥ τ' ἐκέλευσεν ἕο μνήσασθαι ἀνάγκῃ καὶ μάλα τειρόμενον καὶ ἐνὶ φρεσὶ πένθος ἔχοντα."

"Οὕτως οὐ πάντεσσι θεοὶ χαρίεντα διδοῦσιν ἀνδράσιν, οὔτε φυὴν οὔτ’ ἂρ φρένας οὔτ’ ἀγορητύν."

"Τῶν δ' ἄλλων ἐμέ φημι πολὺ προφερέστερον εἶναι, ὅσσοι νῦν βροτοί εἰσιν ἐπὶ χθονὶ σῖτον ἔδοντες."

"Οὐκ ἀρετᾷ κακὰ ἔργα· κιχάνει τοι βραδὺς ὠκύν, ὡς καὶ νῦν Ἥφαιστος ἐὼν βραδὺς εἷλεν Ἄρηα, ὠκύτατόν περ ἐόντα θεῶν, οἳ Ὄλυμπον ἔχουσιν."

"Δειλαί τοι δειλῶν γε καὶ ἐγγύαι ἐγγυάασθαι."

"Ἐπεὶ οὐ μέν τι κασιγνήτοιο χερείων γίνεται, ὅς κεν ἑταῖρος ἐὼν πεπνυμένα εἰδῇ."

"Τί πρῶτόν τοι ἔπειτα, τί δ' ὑστάτιον καταλέξω."

"Ὡς οὐδὲν γλύκιον ἧς πατρίδος οὐδὲ τοκήων γίνεται, εἴ περ καί τις ἀπόπροθι πίονα οἶκον γαίῃ ἐν ἀλλοδαπῇ ναίει ἀπάνευθε τοκήων."

"Οὖτις ἐμοί γ' ὄνομα."

"Τοὺς δ' αὖτ' ἐξ ἄντρου προσέφη κρατερὸς Πολύφημος· «ὦ φίλοι, Οὖτίς με κτείνει δόλῳ οὐδὲ βίηφιν.»"

"Νεκύων ἀμενηνὰ κάρηνα."

"Μή μ' ἄκλαυτον ἄθαπτον ἰὼν ὄπιθεν καταλείπειν νοσφισθείς."

"Τρὶς μὲν ἐφωρμήθην, ἑλέειν τέ με θυμὸς ἀνώγει, τρὶς δέ μοι ἐκ χειρῶν σκιῇ εἴκελον ἢ καὶ ὀνείρῳ ἔπτατ'."

"Ὥρη μὲν πολέων μύθων, ὥρη δὲ καὶ ὕπνου."

"Ἐπεὶ οὐκέτι πιστὰ γυναιξίν."

"βουλοίμην κ' ἐπάρουρος ἐὼν θητευέμεν ἄλλῳ, ἀνδρὶ παρ' ἀκλήρῳ, ᾧ μὴ βίοτος πολὺς εἴη, ἢ πᾶσιν νεκύεσσι καταφθιμένοισιν ἀνάσσειν."

"Καὶ μὴν Σίσυφον εἰσεῖδον κρατέρ' ἄλγε' ἔχοντα, λᾶαν βαστάζοντα πελώριον ἀμφοτέρῃσιν. τοι ὁ μὲν σκηριπτόμενος χερσίν τε ποσίν τε λᾶαν ἄνω ὤθεσκε ποτὶ λόφον· ἀλλ' ὅτε μέλλοι ἄκρον ὑπερβαλέειν, τότ' ἀποστρέψασκε Κραταιΐς· αὖτις ἔπειτα πέδονδε κυλίνδετο λᾶας ἀναιδής."

"Ὦ φίλοι, οὐ γάρ πώ τι κακῶν ἀδαήμονές εἰμεν."

"Πάντες μὲν στυγεροὶ θάνατοι δειλοῖσι βροτοῖσι, λιμῷ δ' οἴκτιστον θανέειν καὶ πότμον ἐπισπεῖν."

"βούλομ' ἅπαξ πρὸς κῦμα χανὼν ἀπὸ θυμὸν ὀλέσσαι ἢ δηθὰ στρεύγεσθαι ἐὼν ἐν νήσῳ ἐρήμῃ."

"Ἐχθρὸν δέ μοί ἐστιν αὖτις ἀριζήλως εἰρημένα μυθολογεύειν."

"Καὶ τῷ νήδυμος ὕπνος ἐπὶ βλεφάροισιν ἔπιπτε, νήγρετος ἥδιστος, θανάτῳ ἄγχιστα ἐοικώς."

"Γήθησέν τ' ἄρ' ἔπειτα πολύτλας δῖος Ὀδυσσεὺς χαίρων ᾗ γαίῃ, κύσε δὲ ζείδωρον ἄρουραν."

"Ξεῖν', οὔ μοι θέμις ἔστ', οὐδ' εἰ κακίων σέθεν ἔλθοι, ξεῖνον ἀτιμῆσαι· πρὸς γὰρ Διός εἰσιν ἅπαντες ξεῖνοί τε πτωχοί τε. δόσις δ' ὀλίγη τε φίλη τε γίνεται ἡμετέρη."

"Οὐ μὲν σχέτλια ἔργα θεοὶ μάκαρες φιλέουσιν, ἀλλὰ δίκην τίουσι καὶ αἴσιμα ἔργ' ἀνθρώπων."

"Ἄλλος γάρ τ' ἄλλοισιν ἀνὴρ ἐπιτέρπεται ἔργοις."

"εὐξάμενός τι ἔπος ἐρέω· οἶνος γὰρ ἀνώγει, ἠλεός, ὅς τ' ἐφέηκε πολύφρονά περ μάλ' ἀεῖσαι καί θ' ἁπαλὸν γελάσαι καί τ' ὀρχήσασθαι ἀνῆκε, καί τι ἔπος προέηκεν, ὅ πέρ τ' ἄῤῥητον ἄμεινον."

"Μή νύ τι σεῦ ἀέκητι δόμων ἐκ κτῆμα φέρηται. οἶσθα γὰρ οἷος θυμὸς ἐνὶ στήθεσσι γυναικός· κείνου βούλεται οἶκον ὀφέλλειν, ὅς κεν ὀπυίῃ, παίδων δὲ προτέρων καὶ κουριδίοιο φίλοιο οὐκέτι μέμνηται τεθνηότος οὐδὲ μεταλλᾷ."

"Τοῦ γάρ τε ξεῖνος μιμνῄσκεται ἤματα πάντα ἀνδρὸς ξεινοδόκου, ὅς κεν φιλότητα παράσχῃ."

"ἶσόν τοι κακόν ἐσθ', ὅς τ' οὐκ ἐθέλοντα νέεσθαι ξεῖνον ἐποτρύνῃ καὶ ὃς ἐσσύμενον κατερύκῃ. χρὴ ξεῖνον παρεόντα φιλεῖν, ἐθέλοντα δὲ πέμπειν."

"Αἵδε δὲ νύκτες ἀθέσφατοι· ἔστι μὲν εὕδειν, ἔστι δὲ τερπομένοισιν ἀκουέμεν· οὐδέ τί σε χρή, πρὶν ὥρη, καταλέχθαι· ἀνίη καὶ πολὺς ὕπνος."

"Νῶϊ δ' ἐνὶ κλισίῃ πίνοντέ τε δαινυμένω τε κήδεσιν ἀλλήλων τερπώμεθα λευγαλέοισι μνωομένω· μετὰ γάρ τε καὶ ἄλγεσι τέρπεται ἀνήρ, ὅς τις δὴ μάλα πολλὰ πάθῃ καὶ πόλλ' ἐπαληθῇ."

"Υἱὸν κύσε, κὰδ δὲ παρειῶν δάκρυον ἧκε χαμᾶζε· πάρος δ' ἔχε νωλεμὲς αἰεί."

"Ῥηΐδιον δὲ θεοῖσι, τοὶ οὐρανὸν εὐρὺν ἔχουσιν, ἠμὲν κυδῆναι θνητὸν βροτὸν ἠδὲ κακῶσαι."

"Κοίτου τε μνήσαντο καὶ ὕπνου δῶρον ἕλοντο."

"Ἔσθλ' ἀγορεύοντες, κακὰ δὲ φρεσὶ βυσσοδόμευον."

"Νῦν μὲν δὴ μάλα πάγχυ κακὸς κακὸν ἡγηλάζει, ὡς αἰεὶ τὸν ὁμοῖον ἄγει θεὸς ὡς τὸν ὁμοῖον."

"Αὐτὰρ μῆλα κακοὶ φθείρουσι νομῆες."

"Δμῶες δ', εὖτ' ἂν μηκέτ' ἐπικρατέωσιν ἄνακτες, οὐκέτ' ἔπειτ' ἐθέλουσιν ἐναίσιμα ἐργάζεσθαι· ἥμισυ γάρ τ' ἀρετῆς ἀποαίνυται εὐρύοπα Ζεὺς ἀνέρος, εὖτ' ἄν μιν κατὰ δούλιον ἦμαρ ἕλῃσιν."

"Αἰδὼς δ' οὐκ ἀγαθὴ κεχρημένῳ ἀνδρὶ παρεῖναι."

"Ἐπεὶ οὔ τις ἐπίσχεσις οὐδ' ἐλεητὺς ἀλλοτρίων χαρίσασθαι."

"Εἰ δή πού τις ἐπουράνιος θεός ἐστι."

"Καί τε θεοὶ ξείνοισιν ἐοικότες ἀλλοδαποῖσι, παντοῖοι τελέθοντες, ἐπιστρωφῶσι πόληας, ἀνθρώπων ὕβριν τε καὶ εὐνομίην ἐφορῶντες."

"Οὐδὲν ἀκιδνότερον γαῖα τρέφει ἀνθρώποιο πάντων, ὅσσα τε γαῖαν ἔπι πνείει τε καὶ ἕρπει."

"Ἀλλ' ὅ γε σιγῇ δῶρα θεῶν ἔχοι, ὅττι διδοῖεν."

"Αὐτὸς γὰρ ἐφέλκεται ἄνδρα σίδηρος."

"Αἶψα γὰρ ἐν κακότητι βροτοὶ καταγηράσκουσιν."

"Δοιαὶ γάρ τε πύλαι ἀμενηνῶν εἰσὶν ὀνείρων· αἱ μὲν γὰρ κεράεσσι τετεύχαται, αἱ δ' ἐλέφαντι. τῶν οἳ μέν κ' ἔλθωσι διὰ πριστοῦ ἐλέφαντος, οἵ ῥ' ἐλεφαίρονται, ἔπε' ἀκράαντα φέροντες· οἳ δὲ διὰ ξεστῶν κεράων ἔλθωσι θύραζε, οἵ ῥ' ἔτυμα κραίνουσι, βροτῶν ὅτε κέν τις ἴδηται."

"Ἀλλ' οὐ γάρ πως ἔστιν ἀΰπνους ἔμμεναι αἰὲν ἀνθρώπους· ἐπὶ γάρ τοι ἑκάστῳ μοῖραν ἔθηκαν ἀθάνατοι θνητοῖσιν ἐπὶ ζείδωρον ἄρουραν."

"Τέτλαθι δή, κραδίη· καὶ κύντερον ἄλλο ποτ' ἔτλης."

"Νύκτας δ' ὕπνος ἔχῃσιν, – ὁ γάρ τ' ἐπέλησεν ἁπάντων, ἐσθλῶν ἠδὲ κακῶν, ἐπεὶ ἂρ βλέφαρ' ἀμφικαλύψῃ."

"Μείδησε δὲ θυμῷ σαρδάνιον μάλα τοῖον."

"Ὡς ὅτ' ἀνὴρ φόρμιγγος ἐπιστάμενος καὶ ἀοιδῆς ῥηϊδίως ἐτάνυσσε νέῳ περὶ κόλλοπι χορδήν."

"Ὡς κακοεργίης εὐεργεσίη μέγ' ἀμείνων."

"Ἔστι γὰρ ἥμιν σήμαθ', ἃ δὴ καὶ νῶϊ κεκρυμμένα ἴδμεν ἀπ' ἄλλων."

"Ὅτε οἱ γλυκὺς ὕπνος λυσιμελὴς ἐπόρουσε, λύων μελεδήματα θυμοῦ."

"Τοὶ δ' ἀλλήλους φιλεόντων ὡς τὸ πάρος, πλοῦτος δὲ καὶ εἰρήνη ἅλις ἔστω."

"Men grow tired of sleep, love, singing and dancing, sooner than of war."

"A blind man; he dwells on the rocky Chios; and his songs are the first among men."

"O fortunate adolescens, qui tuae virtutis Homerum praeconem inveneris!"

"Omero poeta sovrano"

"Ὥσπερ δὲ καὶ τὰ σπουδαῖα μάλιστα ποιητὴς Ὅμηρος ἦν (μόνος γὰρ οὐχ ὅτι εὖ ἀλλὰ καὶ μιμήσεις δραματικὰς ἐποίησεν), οὕτως καὶ τὸ τῆς κωμῳδίας σχῆμα πρῶτος ὑπέδειξεν, οὐ ψόγον ἀλλὰ τὸ γελοῖον δραματοποιήσας· ὁ γὰρ Μαργίτης ἀνάλογον ἔχει, ὥσπερ Ἰλιὰς καὶ ἡ Ὀδύσσεια πρὸς τὰς τραγῳδίας."

"Δεδίδαχεν δὲ μάλιστα Ὅμηρος καὶ τοὺς ἄλλους ψευδῆ λέγειν ὡς δεῖ."

"The translator of Homer should above all be penetrated by a sense of four qualities of his author:—that he is eminently rapid; that he is eminently plain and direct both in the evolution of his thought and in the expression of it, that is, both in his syntax and in his words; that he is eminently plain and direct in the substance of his thought, that is, in his matter and ideas; and, finally, that he is eminently noble."

"Homer, for his astonishing variety, animation, and sublimity, has not a warmer admirer than myself; he has been for three thousand years, like a reigning sovereign, applauded as a matter of course, whether from love or fear; for no man with safety to his own character can refuse to join the chorus of his praise. I never can express (and his other admirers have not done it for me) the pleasure I receive from his poems; but in a view of philanthropy, I consider his existence as having been a serious misfortune to the human race. He has given to military life a charm which few men can resist, a splendor which envelopes the scenes of carnage in a cloud of glory, which dazzles the eyes of every beholder, steals from us our natural sensibilities in exchange for the artificial, debases men to brutes under the pretext of exalting them to gods, and obliterates with the same irresistible stroke the moral duties of life and the true policy of nations. Alexander is not the only human monster that has been formed after the model of Achilles; nor Persia and Egypt the only countries depopulated for no other reason than the desire of rivalling predecessors in military fame."

"One of the earliest- and perhaps the first-rivals of the hymnology of war, hatred, and revenge made immortal by Homer was the poetry of an Aeolian woman called Sappha by her people but uniformly known to later times as Sappho... Much of Sappho's poetry was of a plaintive tenderness but she had a fervid feeling for love as a saving grace. Several of her feminine disciples also sang of the beauty and healing force of love. Solon the law-giver and Plato the philosopher were deeply affected by her hymns to the great idea of a social power unrecognized by "the Bible of the Greeks": Homer."

"Homer is the most simple in his style of all the great poets, and resembles most the style of the poetical parts of the Old Testament. They can have no conception of his manner, who are acquainted with him in Mr. Pope's translation only. An excellent poetical performance that translation is, and faithful in the main to the original. In some places, it may be thought to have even improved Homer. It has certainly softened some of his rudenesses, and added delicacy and grace to some of his sentiments. But withal, it is no other than Homer modernised. In the midst of the elegance and luxuriancy of Mr. Pope's language, we lose sight of the old bard's simplicity. I know indeed no author, to whom it is more difficult to do justice in a translation, than Homer."

"They say no woman could possibly have written the Odyssey. To me, on the other hand, it seems even less possible that a man could have done so. As for its being by a practised and elderly writer, nothing but youth and inexperience could produce anything so naïve and so lovely."

"Homer's poems were writ from a free fury, an absolute and full soul; Virgil's out of a courtly, laborious, and altogether imitatory spirit: not a simile he hath but is Homer's; not an invention, person, or disposition but is wholly or originally built upon Homerical foundations, and in many places hath the very words Homer useth; ... all Homer's books are such as have been precedents ever since of all sorts of poems; imitating none, nor ever worthily imitated of any."

"Of all books extant in all kinds, Homer is the first and best."

"Somewhere along the Ionian coast opposite Crete and the islands was a town of some sort, probably of the sort that we should call a village or hamlet with a wall. It was called Ilion but it came to be called Troy, and the name will never perish from the earth. A poet who may have been a beggar and a ballad-monger, who may have been unable to read and write, and was described by tradition as a blind, composed a poem about the Greeks going to war with this town to recover the most beautiful woman in the world. That the most beautiful woman in the world lived in that one little town sounds like a legend; that the most beautiful poem in the world was written by somebody who knew of nothing larger than such little towns is a historical fact."

"Mr. Gladstone read Homer for fun, which I thought served him right."

"Homer is a world; Virgil, a style."

"I have found by trial Homer a more pleasing task than Virgil... For the Grecian is more according to my genius than the Latin poet. [...] Virgil was of a quiet, sedate temper; Homer was violent, impetuous, and full of fire. The chief talent of Virgil was propriety of thoughts, and ornament of words; Homer was rapid in his thoughts, and took all the liberties, both of numbers and of expressions, which his language and the age in which he lived allowed him."

"It is hardly possible to overestimate the importance for Western Literature of the Iliads demonstration that the fall of an enemy, no less than of a friend or leader, is tragic and not comic. With the Iliad, once for all, an objective and disinterested element enters into the poet's vision of human life. Without this element, poetry is merely instrumental to various social aims, to propaganda, to amusement, to devotion, to instruction: with it, it acquires the authority that since the Iliad it has never lost, an authority based, like the authority of science, on the vision of nature as an impersonal order."

"The Homeric epics are the oldest poems in Greek that survive, but certainly not the oldest there were. It is not merely that their structure is too complicated and that we can point to contradictions in their contents; the legend of Homer himself contains many features incompatible with the portrait of the poet which we should construct from the sophisticated, sceptical and even frivolous spirit of the poems. The traditional picture of the blind old singer of Chios is largely made up of memories that go back to the time when a poet was a vates— a priestly and God-inspired seer. His blindness is merely the outward sign of the inward light that fills his being and enables him to see things others cannot see. This bodily infirmity expresses— as does the lameness of the divine smith Hephaestus—a second idea that was current in primitive times, that a maker of poems, ornaments and other products of handicraft can only come from the ranks of those who are unfit for war and foray. But apart from this feature, the legendary ‘Homer’ is an almost perfect example of the mythical poet who was still half-divine, a wonder-worker and a prophet. We find the clearest embodiment of this idea in Orpheus, the primeval singer who had his harp from Apollo and instruction in the art of song from the Muse herself; with his music he could move not merely men and beasts but even rocks and could reclaim Eurydice from the bonds of death. ‘Homer’ no longer boasts such magical power, but still retains the features of an inspired seer and remains conscious of a mysterious and sacred intimacy with the Muse whom he so confidently invokes."

"Seven cities warred for Homer, being dead, Who, living, had no roof to shroud his head."

"The poems of Homer purported to describe events of the early heroic golden age of , but many of the economic customs Homer described were more characteristic of the late barbaric period, just before 800 B.C.(?), when the epics were supposed to have been written. The forms of government and the economy they describe were feudal, and in some respects resembled Europe's Dark Ages. ..."Gifts" often took the place of royal revenues, taxes, and payments. ...Even craftsmen were often paid for their services in "gifts". Royal revenues also were derived from the king's personal estate, the duty of personal service, tribute, the spoils of war, piracy, and cattle raids. Armies lived off plunder; conquerors were free from taxation."

"Indignor quandoque bonus dormitat Homerus."

"The Homeric poems were to the Greeks more than national poems have ever been to any people."

"The Iliad and the Odyssey belong to the end, not to the beginning, of a poetical epoch. They mark the highest point reached by a school of poetry in Ionia, which began by shaping the rude war-songs of Aeolic bards into short lays, and gradually developed a style suited to heroic narrative."

"In the comparison of Homer and Virgil, the discriminative excellence of Homer is elevation and comprehension of thought, and that of Virgil is grace and splendor of diction. The beauties of Homer are therefore difficult to be lost, and those of Virgil difficult to be retained."

"Oft of one wide expanse had I been told That deep-browed Homer ruled as his demesne; Yet never did I breathe its pure serene Till I heard Chapman speak out loud and bold: Then felt I like some watcher of the skies When a new planet swims into his ken."

"Once the diction has been established it works of itself. Almost anything the poet wants to say, has only to be turned into this orthodox and ready-made diction and it becomes poetry. 'Whatever Miss T. eats turns into Miss T.'"

"In the Odyssey one may liken Homer to the setting sun, of which the grandeur remains without the intensity."

"I finished the Iliad to-day... I never admired the old fellow so much, or was so strongly moved by him. What a privilege genius like his enjoys! I could not tear myself away. I read the last five books at a stretch during my walk to-day, and was at last forced to turn into a by-path, lest the parties of walkers should see me blubbering for imaginary beings, the creations of a ballad-maker who has been dead two thousand seven hundred years. What is the power and glory of Caesar and Alexander to that?"

"No international enterprise as yet has taken the initiative in collecting the hundred most dangerous books ever written. No doubt some time this collection will be made. When it is done, I suggest that Homer's Iliad and Tacitus' Germania should be given high priority among these hundred dangerous books. This is no reflection on Homer and Tacitus. Tacitus was a gentleman and, for all that I know, Homer was a gentleman too. But who will deny that the Iliad and the Germania raise most unholy passions in the human mind? ... [I]f I am going to speak about causes of war in ancient historiography I cannot pass over all the nefarious consequences of that great epic model – the Iliad. Not only did the Iliad create the model of all those Achilleses and Agamemmnons who have troubled the world ever since, but all the bad historians have learnt from Homer to attribute silly causes to earnest wars."

"I should never overlook that it is from Homer, his guide and his teacher, that Virgil derives his skill, nor that one single incident in the Iliad supplied the bulk of the material for that great and divine Aeneid. But that is not the way I do my sums. I marshal other qualities, ones which make that great Homer amazing to me, as though he were above our human condition. And in truth I am often struck with wonder that he, who by his authority created so many gods and made them honoured in this world, has not himself been deified. Poor and blind, living as he did before learning had been codified into rules and definite precepts, he had mastered it all so well that those who have subsequently undertaken to establish forms of government, to conduct wars or to write on religion and on philosophy — no matter what School they belong to — or about the arts and crafts, have accepted him as their master, most perfect in all things, and taken his books as a seed-bed for every kind of knowledge."

"It was against the order of Nature for Homer to have brought forth the most excellent work there can ever be. In Nature's order things are imperfect at birth: they grow up, and become stronger as they grow. He made the childhood of poetry and of several other arts to be adult, complete and mature. That is why, following that beautiful testimony to him which Antiquity has bequeathed to us, he can be called "the first poet and the last": since before him there was none whom he could imitate: after him, none who could imitate him."

"Besides, what renown can be compared with his? Nothing lives like his fame and his works on the lips of men... Homer provides a noble farce in which over the centuries Kings, Republics and Emperors all play their parts and for which this great universe serves as the theatre."

"Poetry changes with every generation, but it does not improve or progress. It just changes its styles, trappings and some of its obsessions, but we can still enjoy Sappho and Homer; they are today's news as much as when they were written or recited."

"The first teacher and beginner of all these beauties of tragedy."

"You were born of no mortal mother, but of Calliope."

"But when to examine every part he came, Nature and Homer were, he found, the same."

"Our author's work is a wild paradise, where, if we cannot see all the beauties so distinctly as in an ordered garden, it is only because the number of them is infinitely greater. It is like a copious nursery, which contains the seeds and first productions of every kind, out of which those who followed him have but selected some particular plants, each according to his fancy, to cultivate and beautify. If some things are too luxuriant it is owing to the richness of the soil; and if others are not arrived to perfection or maturity, it is only because they are overrun and oppressed by those of a stronger nature."

"We acknowledge him the father of poetical diction, the first who taught that language of the gods to men."

"Each time I put down The Iliad, after reading it again in some new translation, or after reading once more the somber splendor of the Greek, I am convinced, as one is convinced by the experiences of a lifetime, that somehow, in a way beyond the visions of artistry, I have been face to face with the meaning of existence. Other works of literature give this insight, but none so powerfully, so uncontaminated by evasion or subterfuge. If the art of poetry is a symbolic criticism of virtue, The Iliad is the paramount classic of that art. Its purity, simplicity, definition, and impact reveal life and expose it to irrevocable judgement, with finality and at the beginning of European literature."

"The first notable product of the Hellenic civilization<!-- was Homer. Everything about Homer is conjectural, but the best opinion seems to be that he was a series of poets rather than an individual. Probably the Iliad and the Odyssey between them took about two hundred years to complete, some say from 750 to 550 B.C., while others hold that "Homer" was nearly complete at the end of the eighth century."

"The Homeric poems, like the courtly romances of the later Middle Ages, represent the point of view of a civilized aristocracy, which ignores as plebeian various superstitions that are still rampant among the populace. In much later times, many of these superstitions rose again to the light of day. Guided by anthropology, modern writers have come to the conclusion that Homer, so far from being primitive, was an expurgator, a kind of eighteenth-century rationalizer of ancient myths, holding up an upper-class ideal of urbane enlightenment. The Olympian gods, who represent religion in Homer, were not the only objects of worship among the Greeks, either in his time or later. There were other darker and more savage elements in popular religion, which were kept at bay by the Greek intellect at its best, but lay in wait to pounce in moments of weakness or terror. In the time of decadence beliefs which Homer had discarded proved to have persisted, half buried, throughout the classical period. This fact explains many things that would otherwise seem inconsistent and surprising-->."

"Read Homer once, and you can read no more, For all things else will seem so dull and poor, You'l wish 't unread; but oft upon him look, And you will hardly need another book."

"The poems of Homer and his contemporaries were the delight of infant Greece; they were the elements of that social system which is the column upon which all succeeding civilization has reposed. Homer embodied the ideal perfection of his age in human character; nor can we doubt that those who read his verses were awakened to an ambition of becoming like to Achilles, Hector, and Ulysses: the truth and beauty of friendship, patriotism, and persevering devotion to an object, were unveiled to the depths in these immortal creations."

"The first of the tragedians."

"But how did you come to have this skill about Homer only, and not about Hesiod or the other poets? Does not Homer speak of the same themes which all other poets handle? Is not war his great argument? and does he not speak of human society and of intercourse of men, good and bad, skilled and unskilled, and of the gods conversing with one another and with mankind, and about what happens in heaven and in the world below, and the generations of gods and heroes? Are not these the themes of which Homer sings?"

"As learned commentators view In Homer more than Homer knew."

"Are vitality and creativity somehow connected with bellicosity? Could there have been Greek civilisation without this restless obsession with fighting? The place of Homer, especially the Iliad, in Greek culture accentuates these disturbing questions. While the cliché that Homer was "the Bible of the Greeks" is misleading – his was in no way a sacred or unquestionable text – he was central to their basic education, and at least as familiar as Shakespeare is to us, if not more so."

"Greek tragedy could never have flowered without Homer as its pioneer."

"Facilius esse Herculi clavam quam Homero versum subripere."

"Notwithstanding the veneration due and paid to Homer, it is very strange, yet true, that among the most learned, and the greatest admirers of antiquity, there is scarce one to be found who ever read the Iliad with that eagerness and rapture which a woman feels when she reads the Novel of Zaïda... The common part of mankind is awed with the fame of Homer, rather than struck with his beauties."

"His gods are perhaps at once absurd and entertaining."

"It was Homer who gave laws to the artist; it was Homer who inspired the poet."

"The Iliad, trans. Robert Fagles (Penguin, 1991),"

"The Iliad of Homer, trans. Richmond Lattimore (University of Chicago Press, 1951)"

"The Iliad of Homer, trans. Samuel Butler (1898)"

"The Iliad of Homer, trans. Andrew Lang, Walter Leaf and Ernest Myers (1883)"

"The Iliad of Homer, trans. Edward, Earl of Derby (1864)"

"The Iliad of Homer, trans. Alexander Pope (1720)"

"The Odyssey, trans. Emily Wilson (W. W. Norton & Company, 2017),"

"The Odyssey, trans. Robert Fagles (Penguin, 1997),"

"The Odyssey, trans. Robert Fitzgerald (Doubleday, 1961)"

"The Odyssey, trans. E. V. Rieu (Penguin Books, 1946)"

"The Odyssey, trans. Samuel Butler (1898)"

"The Odyssey, trans. George Herbert Palmer (1884)"

"The Odyssey of Homer, trans. Samuel Butcher and Andrew Lang (1879)"

"The Odyssey of Homer, trans. Philip Stanhope Worsley and John Conington (1865)"

"The Odyssey of Homer, trans. William Cowper (1791)"

"The Odyssey of Homer, trans. Alexander Pope (1725)"

"Álomban és szerelemben nincs lehetetlenség."

"Ergo vivida vis animi pervicit et extra processit longe flammantia moenia mundi atque omne immensum peragravit mente animoque."

"Quare religio pedibus subiecta vicissim opteritur, nos exaequat victoria caelo."

"Saepius illa religio peperit scelerosa atque impia facta."

"Tantum religio potuit suadere malorum."

"Nullam rem e nihilo gigni divinitus umquam."

"Nil posse creari de nihilo."

"Haud igitur redit ad nihilum res ulla."

"Nequeunt oculis rerum primordia cerni."

"Stilicidi casus lapidem cavat."

"Etsi difficiile esse videtur credere quicquam in rebus solido reperiri corpore posse. transit enim fulmen caeli per saepta domorum, clamor ut ad voces; flamen candescit in igni dissiliuntque ferre ferventi saxa vapore. tum labefactatus rigor auri solvitur aestu; tum glacies aeris flamma devicta liquescit; permanat calor argentum penetraleque frigus quando utrumque manu retinentes pocula rite sensimus infuso lympharum rore superne."

"Ita res accendent lumina rebus."

"Suave mari magno turbantibus aequora ventis e terra magnum alterius spectare laborem; non quia vexari quemquamst jucunda voluptas, sed quibus ipse malis careas quia cernere suave est."

"Sed nihil dulcius est, bene quam munita tenere edita doctrina sapientum templa serena, despicere unde queas alios passimque videre errare atque viam palantis quaerere vitae, certare ingenio, contendere nobilitate, noctes atque dies niti praestante labore ad summas emergere opes rerumque potiri."

"O miseras hominum mentes, o pectora caeca! qualibus in tenebris vitae quantisque periclis degitur hoc aevi quod cumquest! nonne videre nihil aliud sibi naturam latrare, nisi ut qui corpore seiunctus dolor absit, mente fruatur iucundo sensu cura semota metuque?"

"Omnis cum in tenebris praesertim vita laboret."

"Nam veluti pueri trepidant atque omnia caecis in tenebris metuunt, sic nos in luce timemus interdum, nilo quae sunt metuenda magis quam quae pueri in tenebris pavitant finguntque futura. hunc igitur terrorem animi tenebrasque necessest non radii solis neque lucida tela diei discutiant sed naturae species ratioque."

"Sic rerum summa novatur semper, et inter se mortales mutua vivunt. augescunt aliae gentes, aliae minuuntur, inque brevi spatio mutantur saecla animantum et quasi cursores vitae lampada tradunt."

"Dum taxat, rerum magnarum parva potest res exemplare dare et vestigia notitiae."

"Omnia qua propter debent per inane quietum aeque ponderibus non aequis concita ferri."

"Infidi maris insidis virisque dolumque ut vitare velint, neve ullo tempore credant subdola cum ridet placidi pellacia ponti."

"Caelesti sumus omnes semine oriundi."

"Cedit item retro, de terra quod fuit ante, in terras."

"Quae bene cognita si teneas, natura videtur Libera continuo, dominis privata superbis, ipsa sua per se sponte omnia dis agere expers."

"Sed neque tam facilis res ulla est, quin ea primum difficilis magis ad credendum constet, itemque nil adeo magnum neque tam mirabile quicquam, quod non paulatim minuant mirarier omnes."

"Desine qua propter novitate exterritus ipsa expuere ex animo rationem, sed magis acri iudicio perpende, et si tibi vera videntur, dede manus, aut, si falsum est, accingere contra."

"Quo magis in dubiis hominem spectare periclis convenit adversisque in rebus noscere qui sit; nam verae voces tum demum pectore ab imo eliciuntur et eripitur persona, manet res."

"Praeterea gigni pariter cum corpore et una crescere sentimus pariterque senescere mentem. nam vel ut infirmo pueri teneroque vagantur corpore, sic animi sequitur sententia tenvis. inde ubi robustis adolevit viribus aetas, consilium quoque maius et auctior est animi vis. post ubi iam validis quassatum est viribus aevi corpus et obtusis ceciderunt viribus artus, claudicat ingenium, delirat lingua labat mens, omnia deficiunt atque uno tempore desunt. ergo dissolui quoque convenit omnem animai naturam, ceu fumus, in altas aëris auras; quando quidem gigni pariter pariterque videmus crescere et, ut docui, simul aevo fessa fatisci."

"Nil igitur mors est ad nos neque pertinet hilum, quandoquidem natura animi mortalis habetur."

"Et si iam nostro sentit de corpore postquam distractast animi natura animaeque potestas, tamen est ad nos, qui comptu coniugioque corporis atque animae consistimus uniter apti. nec, si materiem nostram collegerit aetas post obitum rursumque redegerit ut sita nunc est, atque iterum nobis fuerint data lumina vitae, quicquam tamen ad nos id quoque factum, interrupta semel cum sit repetentia nostri. et nunc nil ad nos de nobis attinet, ante qui fuimus, [neque] iam de illis nos adficit angor. nam cum respicias inmensi temporis omne praeteritum spatium, tum motus materiai quam sint, facile hoc adcredere possis, saepe in eodem, ut nunc sunt, ordine posta haec eadem, quibus e nunc nos sumus, ante fuisse. nec memori tamen id quimus reprehendere mente; inter enim iectast vitai pausa vageque deerrarunt passim motus ab sensibus omnes."

"Cur non ut plenus vitae conviva recedis aequo animoque capis securam, stulte, quietem?"

"Vitaque mancipio, nulli datur, omnibus usu."

"Nam petere imperium quod inanest nec datur umquam, atque in eo semper durum sufferre laborem, hoc est adverso nixantem trudere monte saxa quod tamen e summo iam vertice rursum volvitur et plani raptim petit aequora campi."

"Nec prorsum vitam ducendo demimus hilum tempore de mortis nec delibare valemus."

"Ut quod ali cibus est aliis fuat acre venenum."

"Medio de fonte leporum surgit amari aliquid quod in ipsis floribus angat."

"Vitare, plagas in amoris ne iaciamur, non ita difficile est quam captum retibus ipsis exire et validos Veneris perrumpere nodos."

"Consuetudo concinnat amorem; nam leviter quamvis quod crebro tunditur ictu, vincitur in longo spatio tamen atque labascit. Nonne vides etiam guttas in saxa cadentis umoris longo in spatio pertundere saxa?"

"Sentit enim vis quisque suas quoad possit abuti. cornua nata prius vitulo quam frontibus extent, illis iratus petit atque infestus inurget."

"Quod siquis vera vitam ratione gubernet, divitiae grandes homini sunt vivere parvo aequo animo; neque enim est umquam penuria parvi."

"Nam cupide conculcatur nimis ante metutum."

"Circumretit enim vis atque iniuria quemque, atque, unde exortast, at eum plerumque revertit."

"Sic volvenda aetas commutat tempora rerum. Quod fuit in pretio, fit nullo denique honore."

"Scilicet et fluvius qui visus maximus ei, Qui non ante aliquem majorem vidit; et ingens Arbor, homoque videtur, et omnia de genere omni Maxima quae vidit quisque, haec ingentia fingit."

"All religions are equally sublime to the ignorant, useful to the politician, and ridiculous to the philosopher."

"The poem of Lucretius in six books, entitled "De Rerum Natura," was the first accurate statement of the Epicurean philosophy in the Latin language... no writer has in stronger terms controverted all the popular notions of heathenism, and even those fundamental points in all religions, the existence of a creative power, a providence, and the immortality of the soul. His language and versification partake of the rudeness of an early period of literature; and, in the argumentative parts of his works the poet is frequently scarce discernible. But where the subject admits of elevated sentiment or descriptive beauty, no poet, at least no Roman poet, has taken a loftier flight, or exhibited more spirit and sublimity. Nor is it only in detached passages that he has displayed the genius of a true poet: the same animated strain is supported almost throughout entire books, when he gets free from the trammels of his system."

"Interviewer: What brings Aristotle closer to Lucretius' statement, “Happy is he who can know the causes of things”? Professor Berti: This is a point that has perhaps not yet been adequately explored because Lucretius was known to be an Epicurean, and Epicureans in ancient times were generally hostile to Aristotle and polemical towards him. Most of the anti-Aristotelian anecdotes preserved in history are of Epicurean origin. Nevertheless, Lucretius, the great Epicurean poet and philosopher, while sharing Epicurus' belief that happiness consists in pleasure – what he calls in Latin “'voluptas”', with which he begins his poem “'De Rerum Natura”' – Lucretius himself states that happy is he who has been able to know the causes of things. Therefore, this pleasure, this happiness, which is clearly an intellectual pleasure, includes knowledge of the causes, that is, the ability to explain phenomena and solve the problems that experience presents us with. And this is ultimately a trait shared by all great philosophers, but also – I would say – by all philosophers, all those who love philosophy, that is, the desire to know, the happiness that comes from solving problems and discovering the causes of why things happen."

"If Lucretius had not been spoiled by the Epicurean system, we should have had a far superior poem to any now in existence. As mere poetry, it is the first of Latin poems."

"If I am not mistaken, the distinguishing character of Lucretius (I mean of his soul and genius) is a certain kind of noble pride, and positive assertion of his opinions. He is every where confident of his own reason, and assuming an absolute command, not only over his vulgar reader, but even his patron Memmius. For he is always bidding him attend, as if he had the rod over him, and using a magisterial authority, while he instructs him. [...] He seems to disdain all manner of replies, and is so confident of his cause, that he is beforehand with his antagonists; urging for them whatever he imagined they could say, and leaving them, as he supposes, without an objection for the future; all this too, with so much scorn and indignation, as if he were assured of the triumph, before he entered into the lists. From this sublime and daring genius of his, it must of necessity come to pass, that his thoughts must be masculine, full of argumentation, and that sufficiently warm. From the same fiery temper proceeds the loftiness of his expressions, and the perpetual torrent of his verse, where the barrenness of his subject does not too much constrain the quickness of his fancy. For there is no doubt to be made, but that he could have been every where as poetical, as he is in his descriptions, and in the moral part of his philosophy, if he had not aimed more to instruct, in his system of nature, than to delight."

"On the Nature of Things is not an easy read. Totaling 7,400 lines, it is written in hexameters, the standard unrhymed sixbeat lines in which Latin poets like Virgil and Ovid, imitating Homer's Greek, cast their epic poetry. Divided into six untitled books, the poem yokes together moments of intense lyrical beauty, philosophical meditations on religion, pleasure, and death, and complex theories of the physical world, the evolution of human societies, the perils and joys of sex, and the nature of disease. The language is often knotty and difficult, the syntax complex, and the overall intellectual ambition astoundingly high."

"Titus Lucretius poeta nascitur: qui postea amatorio poculo in furorem versus, cum aliquot libros per intervalla insaniae conscripsisset, quos postea Cicero emendavit, propria se manu interfecit anno aetatis XLIV."

"[The Roman philosopher Lucretius] thought it a mistake to find the prospect of my death upsetting. Yes, as the deprivation account points out, after death we can't enjoy life's pleasures. But wait a minute, says Lucretius. The time after I die isn't the only period during which I won't exist. What about the period before my birth? If nonexistence is so bad, shouldn't I be upset by the eternity of nonexistence before I was born? But that's silly, right? Nobody is upset about that. So, he concludes, it doesn't make any sense to be upset about the eternity of nonexistence after you die, either."

"Carmina sublimis tunc sunt peritura Lucreti, Exitio terras cum dabit una dies."

"Lucretius, who follows [Epicurus] in denouncing love, sees no harm in sexual intercourse provided it is divorced from passion."

"Lucretius was passionate, and much more in need of exhortations to prudence than Epicurus was. He committed suicide, and appears to have suffered from periodic insanity – brought on, so some averred, by the pains of love or the unintended effects of a love philtre."

"Docti furor arduus Lucreti."

"Felix qui potuit rerum cognoscere causas."

"The noblest descriptive poem extant."

"The Persians, it is said, distinguish the different degrees of the strength of fancy in different poets, by calling them, painters or sculptors. Lucretius, from the force of his images, should be ranked among the latter. He is, in truth, a sculptor-poet. His images have a bold relief."

"See that your cause be good, else Christ will not undertake it."

"When a man's cause is good, it will sufficiently plead for itself, yea, and for its master too."

"Now, therefore, they began to praise, to commend and to speak well of me, both to my face, and behind my back. Now, I was, as they said, become godly; now I was become a right honest man. But, oh! when I understood that these were their words and opinions of me, it pleased me mighty well. For though, as yet, I was nothing but a poor painted Hypocrite, yet I loved to be talked of as one that was truly godly. I was proud of my Godliness, and, indeed, I did all I did, ether to be seen of, or to be well spoken of, by Man."

"[I]n one of the streets of [Bedford], I came where there were three or four poor Women sitting at a door in the Sun, and talking about the things of God; and being now willing to hear them discourse I drew near... for I was now a brisk Talker also myself in the matters of Religion. But... I heard, but I understood not; for they were far above, out of my reach. Their talk was about a new Birth, the work of God on their hearts... They talked how God had visited their souls with his love in the Lord Jesus, and with what words and promises they had been refreshed, comforted, and supported against the temptations... And methought they spake as if Joy did make them speak, they spake with such pleasantness of Scripture Language, and with such appearance of grace in all they said, that they were to me as if they had found a new World..."

"By these things my Mind was now so turned that it lay like a Horse-leech at the Vein, still crying out, Give give, yea, it was so fixed on Eternity, and on the things about the Kingdom of Heaven (that is, so far as I knew, though as yet... I knew but little); that neither Pleasures, nor Profits, nor Persuasions, nor Threats, could loosen it, or make it let go his Hold. ...it is in very deed a certain Truth, it would then have been as difficult for me to have taken my mind from Heaven to Earth, as I have found it often since to get it again from Earth to Heaven."

"[T]he Tempter came in with his delusion, That there was no way for me to know I had faith, but by trying to work some Miracle; urging those Scriptures that seem to look that way, for the enforcing and strengthening his Temptation. Nay, one day as I was betwixt Elstow and Bedford, the temptation was hot upon me, to try if I had Faith, by doing of some Miracle: which Miracle at that time was this, I must say to the Puddles that were in the horse-pads, Be dry; and to the dry places, Be you the Puddles. ...but just as I was about to speak, this thought came into my mind, But go under yonder Hedge and pray first, that God would make you able. But when I had concluded to pray, this came hot upon me, That if I prayed, and came again and tried to do it, and yet did nothing notwithstanding, then be sure I had no Faith, but was a Cast-away and lost. Nay, thought I, if it be so, I will never try... Thus I was tossed betwixt the Devil and my own Ignorance, and so perplexed... that I could not tell what to do."

"About this time... in a Dream or Vision, presented to me. I saw, as if they were set on The Sunny side of some high Mountain, there refreshing themselves with the pleasant beams of the Sun, while I was shivering and shrinking in the Cold, afflicted with Frost, Snow, and dark Clouds. Methought, also, betwixt me and them, I saw a wall that did compass about this mountain; now, through this wall my soul did greatly desire to pass; concluding, that if I could, I would go even into the very midst of them, and there also comfort myself with the heat of their Sun. ...At the last, I saw... a narrow gap, like a little doorway in the Wall, through which I attempted to pass. Now the passage being very strait and narrow... I was well nigh quite beat out, by striving to get in ...Then was I exceeding glad, and went and sat down in the midst of them, and so was comforted with the light and heat of their Sun."

"Now, this... Mountain signified the Church of the living God; the Sun that shone thereon, the comfortable shining of his merciful Face on them that were therein; the Wall, I thought, was the Word, that did make separation between the Christians and the World; and the Gap which was in this Wall, I thought was Jesus Christ, who is the way to God the Father. But forasmuch as the Passage was wonderful narrow... it showed me that none could enter into Life, but those that were in downright earnest, and unless also they left this wicked World behind them; for here was only room for Body and Soul, but not for Body and Soul, and Sin."

"And so I penned It down, until at last it came to be, For length and breadth, the bigness which you see."

"Some said, "John, print it;" others said, "Not so." Some said, "It might do good;" others said, "No.""

"The name of the slough was Despond."

"Then it came burning hot into my mind, whatever he said, and however he flattered, when he got me home to his House, he would sell me for a slave. So I bid him forbear to talk, for I would not come near the door of his House. Then he reviled me, and told me that he would send such a one after me, that should make my way bitter to my Soul."

"Now I saw in my dream, that the highway, up which Christian was to go, was fenced on either side with a wall, and that wall was called salvation. Up this way, therefore, did burdened Christian run, but not without great difficulty, because of the load on his back. He ran thus till he came at a place somewhat ascending; and upon that place stood a cross, and a little below, in the bottom, a sepulchre. So I saw in my dream, that just as Christian came up with the cross, his burden loosed from off his shoulders, and fell from off his back, and began to tumble, and so continued to do till it came to the mouth of the sepulchre, where it fell in, and I saw it no more."

"Every fat must stand upon its own bottom."

"The palace Beautiful."

"But now in this Valley of Humiliation poor Christian was hard put to it, for he had gone but a little way before he espied a foul Fiend coming over the field to meet him; his name is Apollyon. Then did Christian begin to be afraid, and to cast in his mind whether to go back, or to stand his ground. But he considered again, that he had no Armor for his back, and therefore thought that to turn the back to him might give him greater advantage with ease to pierce him with his Darts; therefore he resolved to venture, and stand his ground. For thought he, had I no more in mine eye than the saving of my life, 'twould be the best way to stand. So he went on, and Apollyon met him. Now the Monster was hideous to behold, he was cloathed with scales like a Fish (and they are his pride) he had Wings like a Dragon, feet like a Bear, and out of his belly came Fire and Smoke, and his mouth was as the mouth of a Lion. When he was come up to Christian, he beheld him with a disdainful countenance, and thus began to question with him."

"Dark as pitch."

"It beareth the name of Vanity Fair, because the town where 't is kept is lighter than vanity."

"They came to the Delectable Mountains."

"Some things are of that nature as to make One's fancy chuckle, while his heart doth ache."

"Now as they were going along and talking, they espied a Boy feeding his Father’s Sheep. The Boy was in very mean Cloaths, but of a very fresh and well-favoured Countenance, and as he sate by himself he sung. Hark, said Mr Greatheart, to what the Shepherd’s boy saith. So they hearkened, and he said—"

"Gaius also proceeded, and said, I will now speak on the behalf of women, to take away their reproach. For as death and the curse came into the world by a woman, Gen. 3, so also did life and health: God sent forth his Son, made of a woman. Gal. 4:4. Yea, to show how much they that came after did abhor the act of the mother, this sex in the Old Testament coveted children, if happily this or that woman might be the mother of the Saviour of the world. I will say again, that when the Saviour was come, women rejoiced in him, before either man or angel. Luke 1:42-46. I read not that ever any man did give unto Christ so much as one groat; but the women followed him, and ministered to him of their substance. Luke 8:2,3. ‘Twas a woman that washed his feet with tears, Luke 7:37-50, and a woman that anointed his body at the burial. John 11:2; 12:3. They were women who wept when he was going to the cross, Luke 23:27, and women that followed him from the cross, Matt. 27:55,56; Luke 23:55, and sat over against his sepulchre when he was buried. Matt. 27:61. They were women that were first with him at his resurrection-morn, Luke 24:1, and women that brought tidings first to his disciples that he was risen from the dead. Luke 24:22,23. Women therefore are highly favored, and show by these things that they are sharers with us in the grace of life."

"There stood a man with his sword drawn, and his face all over with blood. Then said Mr. Great-Heart, Who art thou? The man made answer, saying, I am one whose name is Valiant-for-truth. I am a pilgrim, and am going to the Celestial City."

"I fought till my sword did cleave to my hand; and then they were joined together as if a sword grew out of my arm; and when the blood ran through my fingers, then I fought with most courage."

"He who would valiant be, Let him come hither; One here will constant be, Come wind, come weather There’s no discouragement Shall make him once relent His first avow’d intent To be a pilgrim.'Whoso beset him round With dismal stories, Do but themselves confound; His strength the more is. No lion can him fright, He’ll with a giant fight, But he will have a right To be a pilgrim.'Hobgoblin nor foul fiend Can daunt his spirit; He knows he at the end Shall life inherit. Then, fancies, fly away, He’ll not fear what men say; He’ll labour night and day To be a pilgrim."

"Then Mr. Honest called for his friends, and said unto them, I die, but shall make no will. As for my honesty, it shall go with me; let him that comes after be told of this. When the day that he was to be gone was come, he addressed himself to go over the river. Now the river at that time over-flowed its banks in some places; but Mr. Honest, in his lifetime, had spoken to one Good-conscience to meet him there, the which he also did, and lent him his hand, and so helped him over. The last words of Mr. Honest were, Grace reigns! So he left the world.After this it was noised abroad that Mr. Valiant-for-truth was taken with a summons by the same post as the other, and had this for a token that the summons was true, "That his pitcher was broken at the fountain." When he understood it, he called for his friends, and told them of it. Then said he, I am going to my Father’s; and though with great difficulty I have got hither, yet now I do not repent me of all the trouble I have been at to arrive where I am. My sword I give to him that shall succeed me in my pilgrimage, and my courage and skill to him that can get it. My marks and scars I carry with me, to be a witness for me that I have fought His battles who will now be my rewarder. When the day that he must go hence was come, many accompanied him to the river-side, into which as he went, he said, "Death, where is thy sting?" And as he went down deeper, he said, "Grave, where is thy victory?" So he passed over, and all the trumpets sounded for him on the other side."

"Bunyan... set about the composition of a book, which, under the title of "Grace Abounding to the Chief of Sinners," gives, as he only could give it, the story of his life. This proved to be one of his most memorable compositions, and associates itself in one's mind with Augustine's confessions and the heart-utterances of Luther. ...This book, which in parts is weird and terrible as his own picture of the valley of the shadow of death, is yet in its alternations a faithful transcript of the writer's soul, and must be read in order to a right understanding of the man as he was, both in strength and weakness."

"What hath the devil, or his agents, gotten by putting our great gospel minister Bunyan in prison? For in prison he wrote many excellent books, that have published to the world his great grace, and great truth, and great judgment, and great ingenuity; and to instance in one, the "Pilgrim's Progress," he hath suited to the life of a traveller so exactly and pleasantly, and to the life of a Christian, that this very book, besides the rest, hath done the superstitious sort of men more good than if he had been let alone at his meeting at Bedford, to preach the gospel to his own auditory."

"Bunyan was a true artist, though he knew nothing of the rules, and was not aware that he was an artist at all."

"It has been the fashion to dwell on the disadvantages of his education, and to regret the carelessness of nature which brought into existence a man of genius in a tinker's but at . Nature is less partial than she appears, and all situations in life have their compensations along with them. Circumstances I should say, qualified Bunyan perfectly well for the work which he had to do. If he had gone to school, as he said, with Aristotle and Plato; if he had been broken in at a university and been turned into a bishop; if he had been in any one of the learned professions, he might easily have lost, or might have never known, the secret of his powers. He was born to be the Poet-apostle of the English middle classes, imperfectly educated like himself; and, being one of themselves, he had the key of their thoughts and feelings in his own heart. Like nine out of ten of his countrymen, he came into the world with no fortune but his industry. He had to work with his hands for his bread, and to advance by the side of his neighbours along the road of common business. His knowledge was scanty, though of rare quality. He knew his Bible probably by heart. He had studied history in Foxe's Martyrs, but nowhere else that we can trace. The rest of his mental furniture was gathered at first hand from his conscience, his life, and his occupations. Thus, every idea which he received falling into a soil naturally fertile, sprouted up fresh, vigorous, and original."

"Those who project total responsibility for their actions on heredity circumstances fail to see that numerous individuals rise above such circumstances. There is a John Bunyan, deprived of his physical sight, and yet he wrote a Pilgrim's Progress that generations will cherish so long as the cords of memory shall lengthen."

"Was not John Bunyan an extremist? — "I will stay in jail to the end of my days before I make a butchery of my conscience". . . So the question is not whether we will be extremists, but what kind of extremists we will be. Will we be extremists for hate or for love? Will we be extremists for the preservation of injustice or for the extension of justice? In that dramatic scene on Calvary's hill three men were crucified. We must never forget that all three were crucified for the same crime — the crime of extremism. Two were extremists for immorality, and thus fell below their environment. The other, Jesus Christ, was an extremist for love, truth and goodness, and thereby rose above his environment. Perhaps the South, the nation and the world are in dire need of creative extremists."

"When Bunyan entered upon ministerial duties, it was with the deepest anxiety; in proclaiming the unsearchable riches of Christ, his first effort was to fix upon his hearers the all-important truth, 'Ye must be born again.' This soon led him into controversy, in which he made marvellous discoveries of the state of society... Strangely absurd errors were promulgated, to conquer which, all the mighty energies of Bunyan's mind... were brought into active exercise. Limited in preaching to the few who were within the sound of his voice, and knowing that poisonous errors had extended throughout the kingdom, he sought the all-powerful aid of the press, and published several searching treatises before his imprisonment. Soon after this, he was called to suffer persecution as a Christian confessor, and then his voice was limited to the walls of his prison, excepting when, by the singular favour of his jailers, he was permitted to make stolen visits to his fellow-Christians. From the den in this jail issued works which have embalmed his memory in the richest fragrance in the churches of Christ, not only in his native land, but in nearly all the kingdoms of the world. Thus was the folly of persecution demonstrated, while the mad wrath of man promoted the very object which it intended to destroy."

"Bunyan's name is now as much identified with British literature as that of Milton or of Shakespeare."

"[I]n nearly all his works water-baptism is swallowed up in his earnest desire to win souls to Christ. All his effort is to fix attention upon that spiritual baptism which is essential to salvation, by which the soul passeth from death unto life, and from which springs good will to man, and glory to God."

"Bunyan, although unlearned as to the arts and sciences of this world, was deeply versed in the mysteries of godliness, and the glories of the world to come. He was a most truthful, ingenious, persuasive, and invaluable writer upon the essentials of human happiness. To refuse his Scriptural instruction, because he was not versed in chemistry, mathematics, Greek, or Latin, would be to proclaim ourselves void of understanding."

"The case to which I wish to call attention is... that of the author of the Pilgrim's Progress. The principal document concerned is John Bunyan's remarkable confession, entitled Grace Abounding to the Chief of Sinners, an autobiographical statement which Bunyan wrote... "for the support of the weak and tempted people of God." This little book... ranking... second only to the great Pilgrim's Progress itself. As a record of human experience, the Grace Abounding will never lose its charm, both for lovers of religious biography, and for admirers of honesty, of sincerity, and of simple pathos. Nothing that can be said as to the psychological significance... will ever detract from the worth of the book, even when viewed... as a "support" for the "weak and tempted.""

"Bunyan... had at one time a decidedly heavy and morbid burden to bear. But, like many another nervous sufferer of the "strong type" (Koch's starker Typus), Bunyan carried this burden with heroic perseverance, and in the end won the mastery over it by a most instructive kind of self-discipline. In view of this fact, a clearer recognition of the nature of the burden, from the psychological point of view, rather helps than hinders our admiration for the author's genius, and our respect for his unconquerable manhood. It is this sort of case, in fact, that renders the study of the nervous disorders so frequently associated with genius, a pursuit adapted, in very many instances, not to cheapen our sense of the dignity of genius, but to heighten our reverence for the strength that could contend, as some men of genius have done, with their disorders, and that could conquer the nervous "Apollyon" on his own chosen battle-ground."

"This is unquestionably a fairly typical case of a now often described mental disorder. The peculiarities of this special case lie largely in the powers of the genius who here suffered from the malady. A man of sensitive and probably somewhat burdened nervous constitution... is beset in childhood with frequent nocturnal and even diurnal terrors of a well-known sort. In youth, after an early marriage, under the strain of a life of poverty and of many religious anxieties, he develops elementary insistent dreads of a conscientious sort, and later a collection of habits of questioning and of doubt which... pass the limits of the normal. His general physical condition meanwhile failing, in a fashion that... appears to be of some neurasthenic type, there now appears a highly systematized mass of [painful] insistent motor-speech functions... accompanied with still more of the same fears, doubts, and questions. After [an] extended period, after one remission, and also after a decided change in the... insistent elements, the malady... rapidly approaches a dramatic crisis, which leaves the sufferer... in [an extended, but somewhat benign] condition of secondary melancholic depression... a depression from which, owing to a deep change of... mental habits, and [improved] physical condition, he... emerges cured, although with... his greatest enemy—systematized insistent impulses. This entire morbid experience has lasted some four years. Henceforth, under a skillful self-imposed mental regimen, this man, although always a prey to elementary insistent temptations and to fits of deep depression of mood, has no return of his more systematized disorders, and endures heavy burdens of work and of fortune with excellent success. Such is the psychological aspect of a story whose human and spiritual interest is and remains of the very highest."

"The author of the Pilgrim's Progress has also left an autobiography... Grace Abounding, which is as remarkable from a psychological as from an historical point of view. This book is the best study for the origin and essence of Puritanism. It is a work which... has the significance for the seventeenth century that the Confessiones of St. Augustin have for the fifth, and the Confessions of Rousseau for the eighteenth. In these three books beats the full and living pulse of the times in which they were composed."

"Some gentlemen abounding in their university erudition are apt to fill their sermons with philosophical terms and notions of the metaphysical or abstracted kind... I have been better entertained, and more informed, by a few pages in the Pilgrim's Progress, than by a long discourse upon the will and the intellect, and simple or complex ideas."

"The value of the "Grace Abounding,"... as a work of experimental religion may be easily overestimated. It is not many who can study Bunyan's minute history of the various stages of his spiritual life with real profit. To some temperaments, especially among the young, the book is more likely to prove injurious than beneficial; it is calculated rather to nourish morbid imaginations, and a dangerous habit of introspection, than to foster the quiet growth of the inner life. ...Only those... who have known by experience the force of Bunyan's spiritual combat, can fully appreciate and profit by Bunyan's narrative. He tells us... that it was written "for the support of the weak and tempted people of God." For such the "Grace Abounding to the chief of sinners" will ever prove most valuable. Those for whom it was intended will find in it a message of comfort and strength."

"Le donne i cavallier, l'arme, gli amori, Le cortesie, l'audaci imprese io canto."

"Che per amor venne in furore e matto, d'huom che si saggio era stimato prima."

"Quel che l'huom vede Amor gli fa invisibile E l'invisibil fa vedere Amore."

"Ingiustissimo Amor, perché sì raro Corrispondenti fai nostri desiri? Onde, perfido, avvien che t'è sì caro Il discorde voler ch’in duo cor miri?"

"Bene è felice quel, donne mie care, Ch'essere accorto all'altrui spese impare."

"Natura il fece, e poi roppe la stampa."

"Che l'uomo il suo destin fugge di raro."

"Che quant' era più ornata, era più brutta."

"Né spegner può, per starne l'acqua, il fuoco, Né può stato mutar, per mutar loco."

"Quanto più su l'instabil ruota vedi Di Fortuna ire in alto il miser uomo, Tanto più tosto hai da vedergli i piedi Ove ora ha il capo, e far cadendo il tomo."

"Ordina l'uomo e Dio dispone."

"But in a farther age shall rise along The banks of Po two greater still than he; The world which smiled on him shall do them wrong Till they are ashes, and repose with me. The first [Ariosto] will make an epoch with his lyre And fill the earth with feats of chivalry: His fancy like a rainbow, and his fire, Like that of Heaven, immortal, and his thought Borne onward with a wing that cannot tire; Pleasure shall, like a butterfly new caught, Flutter her lovely pinions o'er his theme, And Art itself seem into Nature wrought By the transparency of his bright dream."

"I found that I had an affinity with writers like Ariosto and Tasso, at least to the extent of loving their poetry. (“Those allegories of Ariosto and Tasso were in some ways very futuristic with those fantastic voyages-they were almost like science fiction without the science.”) Of course they didn't really have science to use. But they had a similarly disciplined imagination."

"Vaghe Ninfe del Po, Ninfe sorelle, E voi de' boschi e voi d'onda marina E voi de' fonti e de l'alpestri cime."

"Perduto è tutto il tempo Che in amar non si spende."

"Canto l'arme pietose e 'l capitano che 'l gran sepolcro liberò di Cristo."

"Ei che modesto è sì, com'essa è bella, Brama assai, poco spera, e nulla chiede."

"Chi la pace non vuol, la guerra s' abbia."

"Chè nel mondo mutabile e leggiero, Costanza è spesso il variar pensiero."

"Chè 'n parte troppo cupa, e troppo interna Il pensier de' mortali occulto giace."

"Dal sonno alla morte è un picciol varco."

"Ha sotto i piedi il Fato e la Natura, Ministri umíli, e 'l moto, e chi 'l misura."

"Chè sovente addivien che 'l saggio e 'l forte Fabbro a se stesso è di beata sorte."

"Giace l'alta Cartago; appena i segni Dell'alte sue ruine il lido serba. Muojono le città, muojono i regni; Copre i fasti e le pompe arena ed erba; E l'uomo d'esser mortal par che si sdegni: O nostra mente cupida e superba!"

"Deh mira (egli cantò) spuntar la rosa Dal verde suo modesta e verginella; Che mezzo aperta ancora, e mezzo ascosa, Quanto si mostra men, tanto è più bella. Ecco poi nudo il sen già baldanzosa Dispiega: ecco poi langue, e non par quella, Quella non par che desiata innanti Fu da mille donzelle e mille amanti.'Così trapassa al trapassar d'un giorno Della vita mortale il fiore, e 'l verde: Nè, perchè faccia indietro April ritorno, Si rinfiora ella mai, nè si rinverde."

"Cogliam d'Amor la rosa: amiamo or quando Esser si puote riamato amando."

"Fortune rarely accompanies anyone to the door."

"It is the fortunate who should extol fortune."

"The day of fortune is like a harvest day, We must be busy when the corn is ripe."

"The most excellent of modern poets, ... whom I reverence next to Virgil."

"I found that I had an affinity with writers like Ariosto and Tasso, at least to the extent of loving their poetry. (“Those allegories of Ariosto and Tasso were in some ways very futuristic with those fantastic voyages-they were almost like science fiction without the science.”) Of course they didn't really have science to use. But they had a similarly disciplined imagination."

"No man in the world was ever born with a greater genius and more qualified for epic poetry."

"Liut unde lant diu möhten mit genâden sîn wan zwei vil kleiniu wortelîn "min" unde "din"."

"Liebe ist ein also saelic dinc, ein also saeleclich gerinc, daz nieman ane ir lere noch tugende hat noch ere."

"Swem nie von liebe leit geschach, dem geschach ouch liep von liebe nie."

"Swer keinen schaden vertragen kan, dâ wahsent dicke schaden an. und ist ein veiclîcher site."

"Owe der ougenweide da man nach leidem leide mit leiderem leide siht leider ougenweide!"

"Hazzen unde nîden daz muoz der biderbe lîden. der man der werdet al die vrist, die wîle und er geniten ist."

"Ez ist ein armer trügesite, der vriunden alsô liuget, daz er sich selben triuget."

"Ine weiz, wie jener werden sol; dirre tôt der tuot mir wol. solte diu wunneclîche Isôt iemer alsus sî mîn tôt, sô wolte ich gerne werben umbe ein êweclîchez sterben."

"Isot ma drüe, Isot m'amie En vus ma mort, en vus ma vie."

"'Tis in the power of Poetry to insinuate into the inmost Recesses of the Mind, to touch any Spring that moves the Heart, to agitate the Soul with any sort of Affection, and transform it into any Shape or Posture it thinks fit."

"Homer excels in Genius, Virgil in Judgment. Homer as conscious of his great Riches and Fullness entertains the Reader with great Splendor and Magnificent Profusion. Virgil's Dishes are well chosen, and tho not Rich and Numerous, yet serv'd up in great Order and Decency. Homer's Imagination is Strong, Vast and Boundless, an unexhausted Treasure of all kinds of Images; which made his Admirers and Commentators in all Ages affirm, that all sorts of Learning were to be found in his Poems. Virgil's Imagination is not so Capacious, tho' his Ideas are Clear, Noble, and of great Conformity to their Objects. Homer has more of the Poetical Inspiration. His Fire burns with extraordinary Heat and Vehemence, and often breaks out in Flashes, which Surprise, Dazle and Astonish the Reader: Virgil's is a clearer and a chaster Flame, which pleases and delights, but never blazes in that extraordinary and surprising manner. Methinks there is the same Difference between these two great Poets, as there is between their Heros. Homer's Hero, Achilles, is Vehement, Raging and Impetuous. He is always on Fire, and transported with an immoderate and resistless Fury, performs every where Miraculous Atchievements, and like a rapid Torrent overturns all things in his way. Æneas, the Hero of the Latine Poet, is a calm, Sedate Warriour. He do's not want Courage, neither has he any to spare: and the Poet might have allowed him a little more Fire, without overheating him. As for Invention, 'tis evident the Greek Poet has mightily the advantage. Nothing is more Rich and Fertile than Homer's Fancy. He is Full, Abundant, and Diffusive above all others. Virgil on the other hand is rather dry, than fruitful. 'Tis plain the Latin Poet in all his famous Æneis, has very little, if any Design of his own ..."

"The Inclinations of Men, in this their degenerate State, carry them with great Force to those voluptuous Objects, that please their Appetites and gratify their Senses; and which not only by their early Acquaintance and Familiarity, but as they are adapted to the prevailing Instincts of Nature, are more esteem'd and pursu'd than all other Satisfactions. As those inferior Enjoyments, that only affect the Organs of the Body are chiefly coveted, so next to these, that light and facetious Qualification of the Mind, that diverts the Hearers and is proper to produce Mirth and Alacrity, has, in all Ages, by the greatest Part of Mankind, been admir'd and applauded. No Productions of Human Understanding are receiv'd with such a general Pleasure and Approbation, as those that abound with Wit and Humour, on which the People set a greater Value, than on the wisest and most instructive Discourses. Hence a pleasant Man is always caress'd above a wise one, and Ridicule and Satyr, that entertain the Laughers, often put solid Reason and useful Science out of Countenance. The wanton Temper of the Nation has been gratify'd so long with the high Seasonings of Wit and Raillery in Writing and Conversation, that now almost all Things that are not accommodated to their Relish by a strong Infusion of those Ingredients, are rejected as the heavy and insipid Performances of Men of a plain Understanding and meer Masters of Sense."

"No more of courts, of triumphs, or of arms, No more of Valour’s force, or Beauty's charms! The themes of vulgar lays with just disdain I leave unsung, the flocks, the amorous swain, The pleasures of the land, and terrors of the main. How abject, how inglorious 'tis to lie Grovelling in dust and darkness, when on high Empires immense, and rolling worlds of light, To range their heavenly scenes the muse invite!"

"Fame, which is the opinion the World expresses of any Man's excellent Endowments, is the Idol to which the finest spirits have, in all Ages, burnt their Incense."

"Man is naturally a proud Animal, and is fond of nothing more than the Breath of Fame to sooth his Vanity, and flatter his Self-Admiration."

"Blackmore by the unremitted enmity of the wits, whom he provoked more by his virtue than his dulness, has been exposed to worse treatment than he deserved."

"Bella...plus quam civilia."

"Iusque datum sceleri."

"Nulli penitus descendere ferro contigit; alta sedent civilis volnera dextrae."

"Invida fatorum series summisque negatum stare diu nimioque graves sub pondere lapsus nec se Roma ferens."

"In se magna ruunt: laetis hunc numina rebus crescendi posuere modum."

"Nulla fides regni sociis, omnisque potestas inpatiens consortis erit."

"Concordia discors."

"Quis iustius induit arma scire nefas: magno se iudice quisque tuetur; Victrix causa deis placuit sed victa Catoni."

"Stat magni nominis umbra."

"Sed non in Caesare tantum nomen erat nec fama ducis, sed nescia virtus stare loco, solusque pudor non vincere bello."

"Fecunda virorum paupertas fugitur totoque accersitur orbe quo gens quaeque perit."

"Mensuraque juris vis erat."

"Postquam leges bello siluere coactae pellimur e patriis laribus patimurque volentes exilium."

"Tolle moras: semper nocuit differre paratis."

"Arma tenenti omnia dat, qui justa negat."

"Vos quoque qui fortes animas, belloque peremptas Laudibus in longum vates dimittitis aevum, Plurima securi fudistis carmina, Bardi."

"Longae...vitae Mors media est."

"Vana quoque ad veros accessit fama timores."

"Sic quisque pavendo dat vires famae, nulloque auctore malorum quae finxere timent."

"O faciles dare summa deos eademque tueri difficiles!"

"Sit caeca futuri mens hominum fati; liceat sperare timenti."

"Sed quo fata trahunt virtus secura sequetur. Crimen erit superis et me fecisse nocentem."

"Hi mores, haec duri inmota Catonis secta fuit, servare modum finemque tenere naturamque sequi patriaeque inpendere vitam nec sibi sed toti genitum se credere mundo."

"Non tam portas intrare patentis quam fregisse juvat."

"Sed Caesar in omnia praeceps, nil actum credens, cum quid superesset agendum."

"Aut nihil est sensus animis a morte relictum aut mors ipsa nihil."

"Usque adeo solus ferrum mortemque timere auri nescit amor."

"Non sibi sed domino grauis est quae seruit egestas."

"Phoenices primi, famae si creditur, ausi mansuram rudibus vocem signasse figuris. nondum flumineas Memphis contexere biblos noverat: et saxis tantum volucresque feraeque sculptaque servabant magicas animalia linguas."

"Jamque comes semper magnorum prima malorum saeva fames aderat."

"Discite, quam parvo liceat producere vitam, Et quantum natura petat."

"Vita brevis nulli superest qui tempus in illa quaerendae sibi mortis habet."

"Ignorantque datos, ne quisquam seruiat, enses."

"Audendo magnus tegitur timor."

"Nec tantum prodere vati quantum scire licet."

"Quidquid multis peccatur inultum est."

"Facinus quos inquinat aequat."

"O vitae tuta facultas pauperis angustique lares! o munera nondum intellecta deum!"

"Cum tot in hac anima populorum vita salusque pendeat et tantus caput hoc sibi fecerit orbis, saevitia est voluisse mori."

"A prima descendit origine mundi causarum series."

"Multos in summa pericula misit venturi timor ipse mali. Fortissimus ille est qui, promptus metuenda pati, si comminus instent, et differre potest."

"Nil opus est uotis, iam fatum accersite ferro. in manibus uestris, quantus sit Caesar, habetis."

"Et primo ferri motu prosternite mundum; sitque palam, quas tot duxit Pompeius in urbem curribus, unius gentes non esse triumphi."

"Libertas ultima mundi quo steterit ferienda loco."

"Plus est quam vita salusque quod perit: in totum mundi prosternimur aevum."

"Coniunx est mihi, sunt nati; dedimus tot pignora fatis."

"Libera fortunae mors est; capit omnia tellus quae genuit; caelo tegitur qui non habet urnam."

"Vivit post proelia Magnus sed fortuna perit."

"Quod defles, illud amasti."

"Dat poenas laudata fides, cum sustinet inquit quos fortuna premit."

"Exeat aula qui volt esse pius. Virtus et summa potestas non coeunt; semper metuet quem saeva pudebunt."

"Clarum et venerabile nomen gentibus."

"Scire mori sors prima viris, sed proxima cogi."

"Serpens, sitis, ardor harenae dulcia virtuti; gaudet patientia duris; laetius est, quotiens magno sibi constat, honestum."

"Estque dei sedes nisi terra et pontus et aer et caelum et virtus? superos quid quaerimus ultra? Jupiter est quodcumque vides, quocumque moveris."

"Si veris magna paratur fama bonis et si successu nuda remoto inspicitur virtus, quidquid laudamus in ullo maiorum, fortuna fuit."

"Ecce parens verus patriae."

"Etiam periere ruinae."

"Unica belli praemia civilis, victis donare salutem, perdidimus."

"Lucan is the most philosophical and the most public-spirited poet of all antiquity."

"The Pharsalia is not sufficiently appreciated—though harsh and irregular I consider it an epic poem of great merit which read on classic ground is by no means uninteresting."

"No reasonable judgment can rank Lucan among the world's great epic poets. He does not tell his story well: the successive episodes are neither skilfully connected nor well proportioned. His frequent digressions are often irrelevant and much too long. His geographical descriptions are obscure and wearisome. His account of military operations is hard to follow: he is concise where detail is needed and dwells at length on trivial or irrelevant matters. To him the narrative is of secondary importance: his interest lies elsewhere; the words said matter more in his view than the things done. His power and force are undeniable; but he lacks the chief gifts that a great epic poet must possess. He ventured on one innovation which seemed bold to his contemporaries. He discarded all that supernatural machinery which Virgil had taken over from Homer. The gods play no part in the action; Venus never comes down from Olympus to protect Caesar, her descendant. The later epic poets did not follow Lucan's example in this matter; but there is no doubt that he was right. He was dealing with Roman history and with fairly recent events; and the introduction of the gods as actors must have been grotesque. [...] The truth is, that Lucan is not a poet in the sense in which Lucretius and Virgil are poets; he is read, not for any poetical quality but for his rhetorical invective and his pungent epigrams. His diction and rhythm are monotonous: he makes no attempt to imitate the elaborate harmonies of Virgil. It appears that his purpose is less to charm his readers than to startle them and make their flesh creep; and with this object he has constant recourse to extravagant exaggeration or repulsive detail. Whether he would have written better if he had lived longer we cannot tell; but, for all his faults, he won a high reputation among his own countrymen; and Statius and Martial, writing long after his death, do not scruple to name him as the writer of Latin epic poetry who comes nearest to Virgil."

"When Lucan's age is considered, it is impossible not to allow that the poem is a very extraordinary one: more extraordinary, perhaps, than if it had been of a higher kind; for it is more common for the imagination to be in full vigor at an early time of life than for a young man to obtain a complete mastery of political and philosophical rhetoric. I know no declamation in the world, not even Cicero's best, which equals some passages in the Pharsalia. As to what were meant for bold poetical flights,—the sea-fight at Marseilles, the Centurion who is covered with wounds, the snakes in the Libyan desert,—it is all as detestable as Cibber's Birthday Odes. The furious partiality of Lucan takes away much of the pleasure which his talents would otherwise afford. A poet who is, as has often been said, less a poet than a historian, should to a certain degree conform to the laws of history. The manner in which he represents the two parties is not to be reconciled with the laws even of fiction. The senators are demigods; Pompey, a pure lover of his country; Cato, the abstract idea of virtue; while Caesar, the finest gentleman, the most humane conqueror, and the most popular politician that Rome ever produced, is a bloodthirsty ogre. If Lucan had lived, he would probably have improved greatly."

"When I consider that Lucan died at twenty-six, I cannot help ranking him among the most extraordinary men that ever lived."

"Lucanus ardens et concitatus et sententiis clarissimus et, ut dicam quod sentio, magis oratoribus quam poetis imitandus."

"I have also read the four first books of Lucan's Pharsalia, a poem as it appears to me of wonderful genius and transcending Virgil."

"Exim Annaei Lucani caedem imperat is profluente sanguine ubi frigescere pedes manusque et paulatim ab extremis cedere spiritum fervido adhuc et compote mentis pectore intellegit, recordatus carmen a se compositum, quo vulneratum militem per eius modi mortis imaginem obisse tradiderat, versus ipsos rettulit, eaque illi suprema vox fuit."

"Der tac mit kraft al durh diu venster dranc. vil slôze sie besluzzen. daz half niht: des wart in sorge kunt. diu vriundîn den vriunt vast an sich twanc. ir ougen diu beguzzen ir beider wangel. sus sprach zim ir munt: "zwei herze und einen lîp hân wir.""

"Ist zwîvel herzen nâchgebûr, das muoz der sêle warden sûr."

"Daz schuof iedoch ein wîse man, daz alter guot solde hân. jugent hât vil werdekeit, daz alter siuften unde leit. ez enwart nie niht als unfruot, sô alter unde armuot."

"Die sint tœrscher denne beiersch her, unt doch bî manlîcher wer. swer in den zwein landen wirt, gefuoge ein wunder an im birt."

"Ôwî wan wær dîn schœne mîn! dir hete got den wunsch gegebn, ob du mit witzen soldest lebn."

"Swa du guotes wîbes vingerlîn mügest erwerben unt ir gruoz, daz nim: ez tuot dir kumbers buoz. du solt zir kusse gâhen und ir lîp vast umbevâhen: daz gît gelücke und hôhen muot, op si kiusche ist unde guot."

"Man sol hunde umb ebers houbet gebn."

"Ir sult niemer iuch verschemn. verschamter lîp, waz touc der mêr? der wont in der mûze rêr, dâ im werdekeit entrîset."

"Ir sult bescheidenlîche sîn arm unde rîche. wan swâ der hêrre gar vertuot, daz ist niht hêrlîcher muot: sament er ab schaz ze sere, daz sint och unêre."

"Ûf einem grüenen achmardî truoc si den wunsch von pardîs, bêde wurzeln unde rîs. daz was ein dinc, daz hiez der Grâl, erden wunsches überwal. Repanse de schoy si hiez, die sich der grâl tragen liez. der grâl was von sölher art: wol muoser kiusche sîn bewart, die sîn ze rehte solde pflegn: die muose valsches sich bewegn."

"Ôwê daz er niht vrâgte dô! des pin ich für in noch unvrô. wan do erz enpfienc in sîne hant, dô was er vrâgens mit ermant."

"Weindiu ougn hânt süezen munt."

"Artûs der meienbære man, swaz man ie von dem gesprach, zeinen pfinxten daz geschach, odr in des meien bluomenzît."

"Der schadehafte erwarp ie spot: sælden pflihtær dem half got."

"Frou minne, ir habt ein êre, und wênc decheine mêre. frou liebe iu gît geselleschaft: anders wær vil dürkel iwer kraft."

"Du hôrtst och vor dir sprechen ie, swer dem andern half daz er genas, daz er sîn vîent dâ nâch was."

"Der getriwe ist friundes êren vrô: der ungetriwe wâfenô rüefet, swenne ein liep geschiht sînem friunde und er daz siht."

"Hie hânt zwei herzen einvalt Mit hazze erzeiget ir gewalt."

"Mîn bruodr und ich daz ist ein lîp, als ist guot man unt des guot wîp."

"Von wazzer boume sint gesaft. wazzer früht al die geschaft, der man für crêatiure giht. mit dem wazzere man gesiht. wazzer gît maneger sêle schîn, daz die engl niht liehter dorften sîn."

"Wolfram von Eschenbach's Parzival…was where love and marriage were brought together. It was an apple of a story. That's my favorite love story."

"By common consent, Wolfram is the greatest medieval poet before Dante."

"By the miracle of genius he created a masterpiece [Parzival], epic in scope, noble in purpose, humorous, humane, tender, and rational."

"Although German writers may sometimes have mispraised or overpraised their greatest mediaeval poet, it is certain that we find in Wolfram von Eschenbach qualities, which, in the thousand years between the Fall and the Renaissance of classical literature, can be found to anything like the same extent in only two known writers, the Italian Dante and the Englishman Langland; while if he is immensely Dante's inferior in poetical quality, he has at least one gift, humour, which Dante had not, and is far Langland's superior in variety and in romantic charm."

"Sabei que, segundo o amor tiverdes, Tereis o entendimento de meus versos."

"Sonnet in full:"

"Eu cantarei de amor tão docemente, Por uns termos em si tão concertados, Que dois mil acidentes namorados Faça sentir ao peito que não sente."

"Porém, pera cantar de vosso gesto A composição alta e milagrosa Aqui falta saber, engenho e arte."

"[Ah o amor...] que nasce não sei onde, Vem não sei como, e dói não sei porquê."

"Amor é um fogo qu'arde sem se ver, É ferida que dói, e não se sente, É um contentamento descontente, É dor que desatina sem doer.'É um não querer mais que bem querer, É um andar solitário entre a gente, É nunca contentar-se de contente, É um cuidar que ganha em se perder.'É querer estar preso por vontade, É servir a quem vence o vencedor É ter com quem nos mata lealdade.'Mas como causar pode seu favor Nos corações humanos amizade, Se tão contrário a si é o mesmo Amor?"

"Sete anos de pastor Jacob servia Labão, pai de Raquel, serrana bela; Mas não servia o pai, servia a ela, E a ela só por prémio pretendia."

"Mais servira, se não fora Para tão longo amor tão curta a vida."

"Aquela triste e leda madrugada, Cheia toda de mágoa e de piedade, Enquanto houver no mundo saudade, Quero que seja sempre celebrada."

"Ela viu as palavras magoadas, Que puderam tornar o fogo frio, E dar descanso as almas condenadas."

"Quem vê, Senhora, claro e manifesto o lindo ser de vossos olhos belos, se não perder a vista só em vê-los, já não paga o que deve a vosso gesto."

"Porque é tamanha bem-aventurança o dar-vos quanto tenho e quanto posso, quanto mais vos pago, mais vos devo."

"Ah! minha Dinamene! Assim deixaste Quem não deixara nunca de querer-te! Ah! Ninfa minha, já não posso ver-te, Tão asinha esta vida desprezaste!'Como já pera sempre te apartaste De quem tão longe estava de perder-te? Puderam estas ondas defender-te Que não visses quem tanto magoaste?'Nem falar-te somente a dura Morte Me deixou, que tão cedo o negro manto Em teus olhos deitado consentiste!'Oh mar! oh céu! oh minha escura sorte! Que pena sentirei que valha tanto, Que inda tenha por pouco viver triste?"

"Alma minha gentil, que te partiste Tão cedo desta vida descontente, Repousa lá no Céu eternamente, E viva eu cá na terra sempre triste."

"Transforma-se o amador na cousa amada, Por virtude do muito imaginar; Não tenho, logo, mais que desejar, Pois em mim tenho a parte desejada."

"«Que levas, cruel Morte?» «Um claro dia». «A que horas o tomaste?» «Amanhecendo». «Entendes o que levas?» «Não o entendo». «Pois quem to faz levar?» «Quem o entendia»."

"Mudam-se os tempos, mudam-se as vontades, Muda-se o ser, muda-se a confiança; Todo o mundo é composto de mudança, Tomando sempre novas qualidades."

"Erros meus, má fortuna, amor ardente Em minha perdição se conjuraram."

"Perdigão perdeu a pena Não há mal que lhe não venha.Perdigão que o pensamento Subiu a um alto lugar, Perde a pena do voar, Ganha a pena do tormento. Não tem no ar nem no vento Asas com que se sustenha: Não há mal que lhe não venha.Quis voar a üa alta torre, Mas achou-se desasado; E, vendo-se depenado, De puro penado morre. Se a queixumes se socorre, Lança no fogo mais lenha: Não há mal que lhe não venha."

"Nem no campo flores, Nem no céu estrelas Me parecem belas Como os meus amores."

"Os bons vi sempre passar No mundo graves tormentos; E para mais me espantar, Os maus vi sempre nadar Em mar de contentamentos."

"Já me desenganei que de queixar-me não se alcança remédio; mas, quem pena, forçado lhe é gritar, se a dor é grande. Gritarei; mas é débil e pequena a voz para poder desabafar-me, porque nem com gritar a dor se abrande."

"Nem eu delicadezas vou cantando Co'o gosto do louvor, mas explicando Puras verdades já por mim passadas. Oxalá foram fábulas sonhadas!"

"Foge-me pouco a pouco a curta vida (se por caso é verdade que inda vivo); vai-se-me o breve tempo d'ante os olhos; choro pelo passado e quando falo, se me passam os dias passo e passo, vai-se-me, enfim, a idade e fica a pena."

"As armas e os Barões assinalados Que da Ocidental praia Lusitana Por mares nunca de antes navegados Passaram ainda além da Taprobana, Em perigos e guerras esforçados Mais do que prometia a força humana, E entre gente remota edificaram Novo Reino, que tanto sublimaram."

"Cantando espalharei por toda parte, Se a tanto me ajudar o engenho e arte."

"Cesse tudo o que a Musa antiga canta, Que outro valor mais alto se alevanta."

"E vós, Tágides minhas, pois criado Tendes em mi um novo engenho ardente, Se sempre em verso humilde celebrado Foi de mi vosso rio alegremente, Dai-me agora um som alto e sublimado, Um estilo grandíloco e corrente, Por que de vossas águas Febo ordene Que não tenham enveja às de Hipocrene."

"Já no largo Oceano navegavam..."

"Da Lua os claros raios rutilavam..."

"É fraqueza entre ovelhas ser leão."

"Ó grandes e gravíssimos perigos! Ó caminho de vida nunca certo!"

"Onde pode acolher-se um fraco humano, Onde terá segura a curta vida, Que não se arme, e se indigne o Céu sereno Contra um bicho da terra tão pequeno?"

"Quem poderá do mal aparelhado Livrar-se sem perigo sabiamente, Se lá de cima a Guarda soberana Não acudir à fraca força humana?"

"Eis aqui, quase cume da cabeça De Europa toda, o Reino Lusitano, Onde a terra se acaba e o mar começa."

"Esta é a ditosa pátria minha amada."

"O caso triste, e dino da memória, Que do sepulcro os homens desenterra, Aconteceu da mísera e mesquinha Que depois de ser morta foi Rainha."

"Tu só, tu, puro Amor..."

"Contra uma dama, ó peitos carniceiros, Feros vos amostrais, e cavaleiros?"

"Assim como a bonina, que cortada Antes do tempo foi, cândida e bela, Sendo das mãos lascivas maltratada Da menina que a trouxe na capela, O cheiro traz perdido e a cor murchada: Tal está morta a pálida donzela, Secas do rosto as rosas, e perdida A branca e viva cor, co'a doce vida."

"Um fraco Rei faz fraca a forte gente."

"Ó Rei subido, Aventurar-me a ferro, a fogo, a neve É tão pouco por vós, que mais me pena Ser esta vida cousa tão pequena."

"Certifico-te, ó Rei, que se contemplo Como fui destas praias apartado, Cheio dentro de dúvida e receio, Que apenas nos meus olhos ponho o freio."

"Mas um velho d'aspeito venerando, Que ficava nas praias, entre a gente, Postos em nós os olhos, meneando Três vezes a cabeça, descontente, A voz pesada um pouco alevantando, Que nós no mar ouvimos claramente, C'um saber só de experiências feito, Tais palavras tirou do experto peito:'Ó glória de mandar! Ó vã cobiça Desta vaidade, a quem chamamos Fama!thumb|O glory of commanding! O vain thirst Of that same empty nothing we call fame!"

"Já que nesta gostosa vaidade Tanto enlevas a leve fantasia, Já que à bruta crueza e feridade Puseste nome esforço e valentia, Já que prezas em tanta quantidade O desprezo da vida, que devia De ser sempre estimada..."

"Não acabava, quando uma figura Se nos mostra no ar, robusta e válida, De disforme e grandíssima estatura, O rosto carregado, a barba esquálida, Os olhos encovados, e a postura Medonha e má, e a cor terrena e pálida, Cheios de terra e crespos os cabelos, A boca negra, os dentes amarelos.'Tão grande era de membros, que bem posso Certificar-te, que este era o segundo De Rodes estranhíssimo Colosso, Que um dos sete milagres foi do mundo: Com um tom de voz nos fala horrendo e grosso, Que pareceu sair do mar profundo: Arrepiam-se as carnes e o cabelo A mi e a todos, só de ouvi-lo e vê-lo.thumb|I spoke, when rising through the darkened air, Appalled, we saw w:Adamastor|a hideous phantom glare..."

"Ó que não sei de nojo como o conte! Que, crendo ter nos braços quem amava, Abraçado me achei com um duro monte De áspero mato e de espessura brava. Estando com um penedo fronte a fronte, Que eu pelo rosto angélico apertava Não fiquei homem não, mas mudo e quedo, E junto dum penedo outro penedo."

"Assim contava, e com um medonho choro Súbito diante os olhos se apartou; Desfez-se a nuvem negra, e com um sonoro Bramido muito longe o mar soou."

"Quão doce é o louvor e a justa glória Dos próprios feitos, quando são soados! Qualquer nobre trabalha que em memória Vença ou iguale os grandes já passados. As invejas da ilustre e alheia história Fazem mil vezes feitos sublimados. Quem valerosas obras exercita, Louvor alheio muito o esperta e incita."

"Sem vergonha o não digo, que a razão De algum não ser por versos excelente, É não se ver prezado o verso e rima, Porque quem não sabe arte, não na estima."

"Vistes que, com grandíssima ousadia, Foram já cometer o Céu supremo; Vistes aquela insana fantasia De tentarem o mar com vela e remo; Vistes, e ainda vemos cada dia, Soberbas e insolências tais, que temo Que do Mar e do Céu, em poucos anos, Venham Deuses a ser, e nós, humanos."

"Numa mão sempre a espada, e noutra a pena."

"Veja agora o juízo curioso Quanto no rico, assim como no pobre, Pode o vil interesse e sede inimiga Do dinheiro, que a tudo nos obriga."

"Ó que famintos beijos na floresta, E que mimoso choro que soava! Que afagos tão suaves, que ira honesta, Que em risinhos alegres se tornava! O que mais passam na manhã, e na sesta, Que Vénus com prazeres inflamava, Melhor é experimentá-lo que julgá-lo, Mas julgue-o quem não pode experimentá-lo."

"Porque essas honras vãs, esse ouro puro Verdadeiro valor não dão à gente: Melhor é, merecê-los sem os ter, Que possuí-los sem os merecer."

"Vão os anos decendo, e já do Estio Há pouco que passar até o Outono; A Fortuna me faz o engenho frio, Do qual já não me jacto nem me abono; Os desgostos me vão levando ao rio Do negro esquecimento e eterno sono..."

"Quem faz injúria vil e sem razão, Com forças e poder em que está posto, Não vence; que a vitória verdadeira É saber ter justiça nua e inteira."

"Nô mais, Musa, nô mais, que a Lira tenho Destemperada e a voz enrouquecida, E não do canto, mas de ver que venho Cantar a gente surda e endurecida. O favor com que mais se acende o engenho Não no dá a pátria, não, que está metida No gosto da cobiça e na rudeza Dũa austera, apagada e vil tristeza."

"Fazei, Senhor, que nunca os admirados Alemães, Galos, Ítalos e Ingleses, Possam dizer que são pera mandados, Mais que pera mandar, os Portugueses. Tomai conselho só d'exprimentados Que viram largos anos, largos meses, Que, posto que em cientes muito cabe, Mais em particular o experto sabe."

"Nem me falta na vida honesto estudo, Com longa experiência misturado, Nem engenho, que aqui vereis presente, Cousas que juntas se acham raramente."

"Pera servir-vos, braço às armas feito, Pera cantar-vos, mente às Musas dada."

"Fico que em todo o mundo de vós cante, De sorte que Alexandro em vós se veja, Sem à dita de Aquiles ter enveja."

"As derradeiras palavras que na náu disse foram as de Scipião Africano: Ingrata patria, non possidebis ossa mea!"

"Quem ouviu dizer que em tão pequeno teatro como o de um pobre leito, quizesse a fortuna representar tão grandes desventuras? E eu, como se elas não bastassem, me ponho ainda da sua parte; porque procurar resistir a tantos males pareceria espécie de desavergonhamento."

"Enfim acabarei a vida e verão todos que fui tão afeiçoado à minha Pátria que não só me contentei de morrer nela, mas com ela."

"Com Amor a rosa, Que tão fresca, &c."

"Aqui jaz Luís de Camões Príncipe dos poetas do seu tempo; viveu pobre e miseravelmente e assi morreu."

"We look for something new in a literature unknown to us; we do not go to Lisbon to gaze into shop-windows which we can see in Paris. But the fact is that in Camões' lyrics we enter an enchanted country. They have a peculiar glow and magic which one seeks in vain elsewhere."

"I can read Camoes, etc., pretty well now, and he—his sonnets—are superb—as good as any in English, certainly."

"His sonnets...are full of Petrarchic tenderness and grace, and moulded with classic correctness."

"He might well claim to be a Portuguese Virgil."

"He is a Humanist even in his contradictions, in his association of a Pagan mythology with a Christian outlook, in his conflicting feelings about war and empire, in his love of home and his desire for adventure, in his appreciation of pleasure and the demands of his heroic outlook. But he is above all a Humanist in his devotion to the classical ideal and in his conviction that this was the living force in the imaginative life of Europe in his time. ... His poem covers a wide range of experience because it was written by a man who was open to many kinds of impression and had a generous appreciation of human nature. ... His conception of manhood is fuller and more various than Virgil's. He has indeed something of Homer's pleasure in the variegated human scene and, like Homer, he knows that there can be more than one kind of noble manhood."

"And this morning, as I sat alone within the inner chamber With the great saloon beyond it, lost in pleasant thought serene— For I had been reading Camoëns—that poem you remember, Which his lady's eyes are praised in, as the sweetest ever seen."

"Camoens, with that look he had, Compelling India's Genius sad From the wave through the Lusiad, With murmurs of a purple ocean Indrawn in vibrative emotion Along the verse!"

"The most pleasing literary labour of my life has been to translate "The Lusiads"...of my master, Camoens."

"[Camoens is] the perfection of a traveller's study... A wayfarer and voyager from his youth; a soldier, somewhat turbulent withal, wounded and blamed for his wounds; ... a doughty Sword and yet doughtier Pen; a type of the chivalrous age; a patriot of the purest water, so jealous of his Country's good fame that nothing would satisfy him but to see the world bow before her perfections; a genius, the first and foremost of his day, who died in the direst poverty and distress."

"During how many hopeless days and sleepless nights Camoens was my companion, my consoler, my friend;—on board raft and canoe; sailer and steamer; on the camel and the mule; under the tent and the jungle-tree; upon the fire-peak and the snow-peak; on the Prairie, the Campo, the Steppe, the Desert!"

"He was in sooth a genuine bard; His was no faint, fictitious flame. Like his, may love be thy reward, But not thy hapless fate the same."

"[Camões] alone, of all the lyric race, ... Can look a common soldier in the face: I find a comrade where I sought a master."

"Through fire and shipwreck, pestilence and loss, Led by the ignis fatuus of duty To a dog's death—yet of his sorrows king— He shouldered high his voluntary Cross, Wrestled his hardships into forms of beauty, And taught his gorgon destinies to sing."

"[Camões] is the soldier's poet par excellence."

"excelentissimo Camoes"

"Camoens, the author of the Lusiads, ought to be censured by all his readers, when he brings in Bacchus and Christ into the same adventure of his fable."

"SPAINE gave me noble Birth: Coimbra, Arts: LISBON, a high-plac't love, and Courtly parts: AFFRICK, a Refuge when the Court did frowne: WARRE, at an Eye's expence, a faire renowne: TRAVAYLE, experience, with noe short sight Of India, and the World; both which I write INDIA a life, which I gave there for Lost On Mecons waves (a wreck and Exile) tost To boot, this POEM, held up in one hand Whilst with the other I swam safe to land: TASSO, a sonet, and (what's greater yit) The honour to give Hints to such a witt. PHLIP a Cordiall, (the ill Fortune see!) To cure my Wants when those had new kill'd mee My Country (Nothing—yes) Immortall Prayse (so did I, Her) Beasts cannot browze on Bayes."

"Tho' fiercest tribes her galling fetters drag, Proud Spain must strike to Lusitania's flag, Whose ampler folds, in conscious triumph spread, Wave o'er her Naval Poet's laureate head. Ye Nymphs of Tagus, from your golden cell, That caught the echo of his tuneful shell, Rise, and to deck your darling's shrine provide The richest treasures that the deep may hide: From every land let grateful Commerce shower Her tribute to the Bard who sung her power; As those rich gales, from whence his Gama caught A pleasing earnest of the prize he sought, The balmy fragrance of the East dispense, So steals his Song on the delighted sense, Astonishing, with sweets unknown before, Those who ne'er tasted but of classic lore. Immortal Bard, thy name with Gama vies, Thou, like thy Hero, with propitious skies The sail of bold adventure hast unfurl'd, And in the Epic ocean found a world. 'Twas thine to blend the eagle and the dove, At once the Bard of glory and of love, Thy thankless country heard thy varying lyre, To Petrarch's softness melt, and swell to Homer's fire! Boast and lament, ungrateful land, a Name, In life, in death, thy honor and thy shame."

"Que cosa mas lastimosa que ver un tan grande ingenio mal logrado! yo lo bi morir en un hospital en Lisbon, sin tener una sauana con que cubrirse, despues de aver triunfado en la India oriental y de aver navigado 5500 leguas por mar: que auiso tan grande para los que de noche y de dia se cançan estudiando sin provecho como la araña en urdir tellas para cazar moscas."

"The greatest poet of the sixteenth century, as of all others in Portuguese poetry, is he who sang of"the renowned men, Who, from the western Lusitanian shore, Sailing through seas man never sailed before, Passed beyond Taprobane,"—Luis de Camoens, author of the national epic, "Os Lusiadas," who lived in poverty and wretchedness, died in the Lisbon hospital, and, after death, was surnamed the Great,—a title never given before, save to popes and emperors. The life of no poet is so full of vicissitude and romantic adventure as that of Camoens. In youth, he was banished from Lisbon on account of a love affair with Catharina de Attayda, a dama do paço, or lady of honour at court; he served against the Moors as a volunteer on board the fleet in the Mediterranean, and lost his right eye by a gun-shot wound in a battle off Ceuta; he returned to Lisbon, proud and poor, but found no favour at court, and no means of a livelihood in the city; he abandoned his native land for India, indignantly exclaiming with Scipio, "Ingrata patria, non possidebis ossa mea!" Three ships of the squadron were lost in a storm, he reached Goa safely in the fourth; he fought under the king of Cochin against the king of Pimenta; he fought against the Arabian corsairs in the Red Sea;he was banished from Goa to the island of Macao, where he became administrator of the effects of deceased persons, and where he wrote the greater part of the "Lusiad"; he was shipwrecked on the coast of Camboya, saving only his life and his poem, the manuscript of which he brought ashore saturated with sea-water; he was accused of malversation in office, and thrown into prison at Goa; after an absence of sixteen years, he returned in abject poverty to Lisbon, then ravaged by the plague; he lived a few years on a wretched pension granted him by King Sebastian when the "Lusiad" was published, and on the alms which a slave he had brought with him from India collected at night in the streets of Lisbon; and finally died in the hospital, exclaiming, "Who could believe that on so small a stage as that of one poor bed Fortune would choose to represent so great a tragedy?" Thus was completed the Iliad of his woes. Fifteen years afterward, a splendid monument was erected to his memory; so that, as has been said or another, "he asked for bread, and they gave him a stone.""

"Jack [Chase,] above all things, was an ardent admirer of Camoens. Parts of The Lusiad he could recite in the original."

"Camoens! White Jacket, Camoens! Did you ever read him? The Lusiad, I mean? It's the man-of-war epic of the world, my lad. Give me Gama for a commodore, say I—noble Gama! ... How many great men have been sailors, White Jacket! They say Homer himself was once a tar, even as his hero, Ulysses, was both a sailor and a shipwright. I'll swear Shakspeare was once a captain of the forecastle. Do you mind the first scene in The Tempest, White Jacket? And the world-finder, Christopher Columbus, was a sailor! and so was Camoens, who went to sea with Gama, else we had never had The Lusiad, White Jacket. Yes, I've sailed over the very track that Camoens sailed—round the East Cape into the Indian Ocean. I've been in Don Jose's garden, too, in Macao, and bathed my feet in the blessed dew of the walks where Camoens wandered before me. Yes, White Jacket, and I have seen and sat in the cave at the end of the flowery, winding way, where Camoens, according to tradition, composed certain parts of his Lusiad. Ay, Camoens was a sailor once!"

"For the last time, hear Camoens, boys!"

"CAMOENS (Before) Ever restless, restless, craving rest— The Imperfect toward Perfection pressed Yea, for the God demands thy best. The world with endless beauty teems, And though evokes new worlds of dreams Hunt then the flying herds of themes! And fan, still fan, thy fervid fire, Until thy crucibled gold shall show That fire can purge as well as glow. In ordered ardour, nobly strong, Flame to the height of epic song.(After) CAMOENS IN THE HOSPITAL What now avails the pageant verse, Trophies and arms with music borne? Base is the world; and some rehearse Now noblest meet ignoble scorn, Vain now thy ardour, vain thy fire, Delirium mere, unsound desire; Fate's knife hath ripped thy corded lyre. Exhausted by the exacting lay, Thou dost but fall a surer prey To wile and guile ill understood; While they who work them, fair in face, Still keep their strength in prudent place, And claim they worthier run life's race, Serving high God with useful good."

"Luis de Camoens, the greatest literary genius ever produced by Portugal; in martial courage, and spirit of honour, nothing inferior to her greatest heroes."

"The apparition, which in the night hovers athwart the fleet near the Cape of Good Hope, is the grandest fiction in human composition; the invention his own!"

"The fiction of the apparition of the Cape of Tempests, in sublimity and awful grandeur of imagination, stands unsurpassed in human composition."

"But for Camoens, though he has some glaring faults, he hath, doubtless, many original beauties; both of which, indeed, speak uncommon abilities. He is not correct like Virgil; but the hand of cold and sober judgment would have blotted out the novelties that surprise and delight us: these are "sublime infirmities," which will not bear the inquisition of the critic. "The epic poetry of Camoens, (says Voltaire,) is a sort of poetry unheard of before." I allow it; but not to his dishonour. The manners of the Lusiad are new and striking. And as to imagery, the apparition, hovering athwart the fleet near the Cape of Good Hope, is so grand a fiction, that it would alone set Camoens above Virgil, in point of genius. And what are the Elysian Fields to the Island of Venus!"

"The Rubens of verse."

"Camoens was a master of sound and language, a man of vigour and a splendid rhetorician."

"Black the mountains of Timor Sweeping from the sea Watched Camoëns drift ashore, Rags and misery . . . Hidden in that hollow rod Slept, like heavenly flame Titan-stolen from a god, Lusitania's flame."

"What other lessons could I possibly receive from a Portuguese who lived in the sixteenth century, who composed the Rimas and the glories, the shipwrecks and the national disenchantments in the Lusíadas, who was an absolute poetical genius, the greatest in our literature, no matter how much sorrow this causes to Fernando Pessoa, who proclaimed himself its Super Camões? No lesson would fit me, no lesson could I learn, except the simplest, which could have been offered to me by Luís Vaz de Camões in his pure humanity, for instance the proud humility of an author who goes knocking at every door looking for someone willing to publish the book he has written, thereby suffering the scorn of the ignoramuses of blood and race, the disdainful indifference of a king and of his powerful entourage, the mockery with which the world has always received the visits of poets, visionaries and fools. At least once in life, every author has been, or will have to be, Luís de Camões..."

"The perfection [Vollendung] of Portuguese poetry is all the more apparent in the beautiful poems of the great Camões."

"Sei, Camoens, denn mein Vorbild!"

"Gedoemd poëet, zwerver en banneling."

"Ed or quella del colto, e buon Luigi, Tant 'oltre stende il glorioso volo, Ch'i tuoi spalmati legni andar men lunge.'Ond'a quelli, a cui s'alza il nostro polo, Ed a chi ferma incontra i suoi vestigi, Per lui del corso tuo la fama aggiunge."

"Fortuna estrana que al ingenio aplico La vida pobre y el sepulcro rico."

"Camoëns, en Portugal, ouvrait une carrière toute nouvelle, et s'acquérait une réputation qui dure encore parmi ses compatriotes, qui l'appellent le Virgile portugais."

"Camões soothed with it [the Sonnet] an exile's grief."

"Sors aequa merentes respicit."

"O caeca nocentum consilia! o semper timidum scelus!"

"Pessimus in dubiis augur, timor."

"Quid crastina volveret aetas scire nefas homini."

"Primus in orbe deos fecit timor."

"Dulce loqui miseris veteresque reducere questus."

"Pro fors et caeca futuri mens hominum!"

"Pulchrum vitam donare minori."

"Omne homini natale solum."

"Da spatium tenuemque moram, male cuncta ministrat impetus."

"Blandus honos hilarisque tamen cum pondere virtus."

"Mira fides! credetne virum ventura propago, cum segetes iterum, cum iam haec deserta virebunt, infra urbes populosque premi proavitaque tanto rura abiisse mari? necdum letale minari cessat apex."

"Stesichorusque ferox saltusque ingressa viriles non formidata temeraria Leucade Sappho."

"Aut monstrare lyra veteres heroas alumno."

"Jamdudum tacito lustrat Thetis omnia visu."

"Studiis multum Mavortia, Thrace."

"Ni pudor et junctae teneat reverentia matris."

"Dehinc sociare choros castisque accedere sacris hortantur ceduntque loco et contingere gaudent. qualiter Idaliae volucres, ubi mollia frangunt nubila, iam longum caeloque domoque gregatae, si iunxit pinnas diversoque hospita tractu venit avis, cunctae primum mirantur et horrent; mox propius propiusque volant, atque aere in ipso paulatim fecere suam plausuque secundo circumeunt hilares et ad alta cubilia ducunt."

"Tu caeli pelagique nepos."

"Dignissima caeli progenies."

"The cruelty of war makes for peace."

"Serit arbores, quae alteri saeclo prosint"

"Lo dolce poeta."

"Stazio la gente ancor di là mi noma: cantai di Tebe, e poi del grande Achille; ma caddi in via con la seconda soma."

"And kis the steppes, wher-as thou seest pace Virgile, Ovyde, Omer, Lucan, and Stace."

"I think Statius a truer poet than Lucan, though he is very extravagant sometimes."

"Strada, in his Prolusions, has placed Statius on the highest top of Parnassus; thereby intimating the strength of his genius, and the lofty spirit of his style; which indeed is generally supported by a bold and lively expression, and full flowing numbers. His manner, therefore, resembles rather the martial strut of a general, and the magnificence of a triumph, than the majestic port and true grandeur of a prince, which better suits the inimitable character of Virgil's style. As a soldier cannot easily lay aside the roughness of his character, neither can Statius descend from the pomp of language and loftiness of numbers, when his subject requires it."

"[Statius] has as luxuriant an imagination as Lucan, but it is easy to see that he oftener checked it. You will find in his Thebaid innumerable beauties, but you will also see too many faults. You will see a fire and spirit equal to all that appeals in the Poets of the greatest name; but you will wish not only that it had been more limited, but that it had been better regulated: he has a great deal of natural dignity, but in carrying it too far he often spoils its lustre. His language is often elegant to a very great degree, and though not universally, yet in a very great part, is appropriated in a very happy manner. If there be one fault predominant above the others in the Thebaid, it is that he is too florid; but you will see that in this the fault was in the impetuosity of his fancy rather than in defect of judgment: his subject ran away with him, and he gave the reins to imagination. In his Sylvae we see him with all this false glare, natural, elegant, and easy. His Achilleid there is no pronouncing any thing upon, for it was never retouched. You will find in many parts of his Thebaid a great deal of the true sublime: in others he carries it into rant and bombast. In the Achilleid there is more of this in proportion than in the Thebaid; but we are not from thence to conclude that he grew worse in this respect as he continued his application: had he lived to finish, he would also have corrected that poem."

"Among the writers of antiquity, I remember none except Statius who ventures to mention the speedy production of his writings, either as an extenuation of his faults, or a proof of his facility. Nor did Statius, when he considered himself as a candidate for lasting reputation, think a closer attention unnecessary, but amidst all his pride and indigence, the two great hasteners of modern poems, employed twelve years upon the Thebaid, and thinks his claim to renown proportionate to his labour.Thebais, multa cruciata lima, Tentat, audaci fide, Mantuanae Gaudia famae.Polished with endless toil, my lays At length aspire to Mantuan praise."

"Curritur ad vocem jucundam, et carmen amicae Thebaidos, laetam fecit quum Statius urbem, Promisitque diem, tanta dulcedine captos Afficit ille animos, tantaque libidine vulgi Auditur! sed quum fregit subsellia versu, Esurit, intactam Paridi nisi vendat Agaven."

"In the very beginning he unluckily betrays his ignorance in the rules of poetry (which Horace had already taught the Romans) when he asks his Muse where to begin his Thebaid..."

"It may be remarked of Statius's heroes, that an air of impetuosity runs through them all; the same horrid and savage courage appears in his Capaneus, Tydeus, Hippomedon, etc. They have a parity of character which makes them seem brothers of one family."

"The best of all the Latin epic poets after Virgil."

"I do not scruple to prefer Statius to Virgil; his images are strongly conceived, and clearly painted, and the force of his language, while it makes the reader feel, proves that the author felt himself."

"Think not, ye knaves, whom meanness styles the Great, Drones of the Church and harpies of the State, — Ye, whose curst sires, for blood and plunder fam'd, Sultans or kings or czars or emp'rors nam'd, Taught the deluded world their claims to own, And raise the crested reptiles to a throne, — Ye, who pretend to your dark host was given The lamp of life, the mystic keys of heaven; Whose impious arts with magic spells began When shades of ign'rance veil'd the race of man; Who change, from age to age, the sly deceit As Science beams, and Virtue learns the cheat; Tyrants of double powers, the soul that blind, To rob, to scourge, and brutalize mankind, Think not I come to croak with omen'd yell The dire damnations of your future hell, To bend a bigot or reform a knave, By op'ning all the scenes beyond the grave. I know your crusted souls: while one defies In sceptic scorn the vengeance of the skies, The other boasts, — “I ken thee, Power divine, “But fear thee not; th' avenging bolt is mine." No! 'tis the present world that prompts the song, The world we see, the world that feels the wrong, The world of men, whose arguments ye know, Of men, long curb'd to servitude and wo, Men, rous'd from sloth, by indignation stung, Their strong hands loos'd, and found their fearless tongue; Whose voice of fire, whose deep-descending steel Shall speak to souls, and teach dull nerves to feel."

"Indignant Man resumes the shaft he gave, Disarms the tyrant, and unbinds the slave, Displays the unclad skeleton of kings, Spectres of power, and serpents without stings."

"But grant to kings and courts their ancient play, Recall their splendour and revive their sway; Can all your cant and all your cries persuade One power to join you in your wild crusade? In vain ye search to earth's remotest end; No court can aid you, and no king defend."

"And didst thou hope, by thy infuriate quill To rouse mankind the blood of realms to spill? Then to restore, on death devoted plains, Their scourge to tyrants, and to man his chains? To swell their souls with thy own bigot rage, And blot the glories of so bright an age? First stretch thy arm, and with less impious might, Wipe out the stars, and quench the solar light : “For heav'n and earth," the voice of God ordains, “Shall pass and perish, but my word remains," Th' eternal Word, which gave, in spite of thee, Reason to man, that bids the man be free."

"Once draw the sword; its burning point shall bring To thy quick nerves a never-ending sting; The blood they shed thy weight of wo shall swell, And their grim ghosts for ever with thee dwell. Learn hence, ye tyrants, ere ye learn too late, Of all your craft th' inevitable fate. The hour is come, the world's unclosing eyes Discern with rapture where its wisdom lies; From western heav'ns th' inverted Orient springs, The morn of man, the dreadful night of kings. Dim, like the day-struck owl, ye grope in light, No arm for combat, no resource in sight; If on your guards your lingering hopes repose, Your guards are men, and men you've made your foes; If to your rocky ramparts ye repair, De Launay's fate can tell your fortune there. No turn, no shift, no courtly arts avail, Each mask is broken, all illusions fail; Driv'n to your last retreat of shame and fear, One counsel waits you, one relief is near : By worth internal, rise to self-wrought fame, Your equal rank, your human kindred claim; 'Tis Reason's choice, 'tis Wisdom's final plan, To drop the monarch and assume the man."

"Hail Man, exalted title! first and best, On God's own image by his hand imprest; To which at last the reas'ning race is driv'n, And seeks anew what first it gain'd from Heav'n."

"In every clime, thy visage greets my eyes, In every tongue thy kindred accents rise; The thought expanding swells my heart with glee, It finds a friend, and loves itself in thee. Say then, fraternal family divine, Whom mutual wants and mutual aids combine, Say from what source the dire delusion rose, That souls like ours were ever made for foes; Why earth's maternal bosom, where we tread, To rear our mansions and receive our bread, Should blush so often for the face she bore, So long be drench'd with floods of filial gore; Why to small realms for ever rest confin'd Our great affections, meant for all mankind. Though climes divide us; shall the stream or sea, That forms a barrier 'twixt my friend and me, Inspire the wish his peaceful state to mar, And meet his falchion in the ranks of war? Not seas, nor climes, nor wild ambition's fire In nations' minds could e'er the wish inspire; Where equal rights each sober voice should guide, No blood would stain them, and no war divide. 'Tis dark deception, 'tis the glare of state, Man sunk in titles, lost in Small and Great; 'Tis Rank, Distinction, all the hell that springs From those prolific monsters, Courts and Kings."

"The gazing crowd, of glittering State afraid, Adore the Power their coward meanness made; In war's short intervals, while regal shows Still blind their reason and insult their woes."

"See the long pomp in gorgeous glare display'd, The tinsel'd guards, the squadron'd horse parade; See heralds gay, with emblems on their vest, In tissu'd robes, tall, beauteous pages drest; Amid superior ranks of splendid slaves, Lords, Dukes and Princes, titulary knaves, Confus'dly shine their crosses, gems and stars, Sceptres and globes and crowns and spoils of wars."

"Of these no more. From Orders, Slaves and Kings, To thee, O Man, my heart rebounding springs. Behold th' ascending bliss that waits your call, Heav'n's own bequest, the heritage of all. Awake to wisdom, seize the proffer'd prize; From shade to light, from grief to glory rise. Freedom at last, with Reason in her train, Extends o'er earth her everlasting reign…"

"Lords of themselves and leaders of mankind.On equal rights their base of empire lies, On walls of wisdom see the structure rise; Wide o'er the gazing world it towers sublime, A modell'd form for each surrounding clime. To useful toils they bend their noblest aim, Make patriot views and moral views the same, Renounce the wish of war, bid conquest cease, Invite all men to happiness and peace, To faith and justice rear the youthful race, Till Truth's blest banners, o'er the regions hurl'd, Shake tyrants from their thrones, and cheer the waking world."

"Behold, illumin'd by th' instructive age, That great phenomenon, a Sceptred Sage. There Stanislaus unfolds his prudent plan, Tears the strong bandage from the eyes of man, Points the progressive march, and shapes the way, That leads a realm from darkness into day."

"Hail the mild morning, where the dawn began, The full fruition of the hopes of man. Where sage Experience seals the sacred cause, And that rare union, Liberty and Laws, Speaks to the reas'ning race “to freedom rise, Like them be equal, and like them be wise.""

"Despise it not, ye Bards to terror steel'd, Who hurl'd your thunders round the epic field; Nor ye who strain your midnight throats to sing Joys that the vineyard and the still-house bring; Or on some distant fair your notes employ, And speak of raptures that you ne'er enjoy. I sing the sweets I know, the charms I feel, My morning incense, and my evening meal, The sweets of Hasty-Pudding. Come, dear bowl, Glide o'er my palate, and inspire my soul."

"But here tho' distant from our native shore, With mutual glee we meet and laugh once more, The same! I know thee by that yellow face, That strong complexion of true Indian race, Which time can never change, nor soil impair, Nor Alpine snows, nor Turkey's morbid air; For endless years, thro' every mild domain, Where grows the maize, there thou art sure to reign. But man, more fickle, the bold license claims, In different realms to give thee different names. Thee soft nations round the warm Levant Palanta call, the French of course Polante; E'en in thy native regions, how I blush To hear the Pennsylvanians call thee Mush! On Hudson's banks, while men of Belgic spawn Insult and eat thee by the name suppawn. All spurious appellations, void of truth: I've better known thee from my earliest youth, Thy name is Hasty-Pudding! thus our sires Were wont to greet thee fuming from the fires."

"There are those who strive to stamp with disrepute The luscious food, because it feeds the brute; In tropes of high-strain'd wit, while gaudy prigs Compare thy nursling man to pamper'd pigs; With sovereign scorn I treat the vulgar jest, Nor fear to share thy bounties with the beast."

"As the government of the United States is not in any sense founded on the Christian Religion,—as it has in itself no character of enmity against the laws, religion or tranquility of Musselmen,—and as the said States never have entered into any war or act of hostility against any Mehomitan nation, it is declared by the parties that no pretext arising from religious opinions shall ever produce an interruption of the harmony existing between the two countries."

"Almighty Freedom! give my venturous song The force, the charm that to thy voice belong; Tis thine to shape my course, to light my way, To nerve my country with the patriot lay, To teach all men where all their interest lies, How rulers may be just and nations wise: Strong in thy strength I bend no suppliant knee, Invoke no miracle, no Muse but thee."

"He open'd calm the universal cause, To give each realm its limit and its laws, Bid the last breath of tired contention cease, And bind all regions in the leagues of peace; Till one confederate, condependent sway Spread with the sun and bound the walks of day, One centred system, one all-ruling soul Live thro the parts and regulate the whole."

"Here then, said Hesper, with a blissful smile, Behold the fruits of thy long years of toil. To yon bright borders of Atlantic day Thy swelling pinions led the trackless way, And taught mankind such useful deeds to dare, To trace new seas and happy nations rear; Till by fraternal hands their sails unfurl'd Have waved at last in union o'er the world. Then let thy steadfast soul no more complain Of dangers braved and griefs endured in vain, Of courts insidious, envy's poison'd stings, The loss of empire and the frown of kings; While these broad views thy better thoughts compose To spurn the malice of insulting foes; And all the joys descending ages gain, Repay thy labors and remove thy pain."

"Guru Purnimma is also called Vyasa Purnimna. On this day Bhagavan Veda Vyasa was born to sage Parashara and a fisherwoman. On this day Bhagavan Vedavyasa is said to have commenced the great work Brahma Sutra. Hence this day is also dedicated to the study of Brahma Sutra. He represents the entire Guru Parampara and he is worshipped very well."

"Passionless is the consciousness of being Master on the part of one who has rid himself of thirst for either seen or revealed objects."

"The mind stuff (chitta) -- if it be rid of thirst for objects that are seen, such as women, or food or drink or power, if it be rid of thirst for the object revealed (in the vedas) such as the attainment of Heaven or the discarnate state or of resolution into primary matter -- if even when in contact with objects either supernormal or not it be, by virtue of elevation, aware of the inadequateness of objects - will have a consciousness of being Master..."

". . . . . . o grande Cavaleiro, Que ao vento velas deu na ocídua parte, E lá, onde infante o Sol dá luz primeiro, Fixou das Quinas santas o Estandarte. E com afronta do infernal guerreiro, (Mercê do Céu) ganhou por força, e arte O áureo Reino, e trocou com pio exemplo A profana mesquita em sacro templo. * * * * O tempo chega, Afonso, em que a santa Sião terá por vós a liberdade, A Monarquia, que hoje o Céu levanta, Devoto consagrando à eternidade. Ó bem nascida generosa planta, Que em flor fruto há-de dar à Cristandade, E matéria a mil cisnes, que, cantando De vós, se irão convosco eternizando.'De Cristo a injusta morte vingou Tito Na de Jerusalém total ruína: E a vós, a quem Deus deu um peito invito, Ser vingador de sua Fé destina. Extinguir do Agareno o falso rito É de vosso valor a empresa dina: Tomai pois o bastão da empresa grande Para o tempo que o Céu marchar vos mande."

"Sanskrit: मां निषाद प्रतिष्ठां त्वमगमः शाश्वतीः समाः। यत्क्रौंचमिथुनादेकम् अवधीः काममोहितम्॥"

"Roman transliteration: mā niṣāda pratiṣṭhāṁ tvamagamaḥ śāśvatīḥ samāḥ yat krauñcamithunādekam avadhīḥ kāmamohitam"

"English translation: You will find no rest for the long years of Eternity For you killed a bird in love and unsuspecting"

"This is truly how I remember the ways of the world. Those words I cursed him with make a verse, and that verse could be sung to music."

"Sit by me."

"What a crime! There was not one bit of meat on that little bird. What use is a world run all wrong without a grain of mercy on it?"

"In all this world, I pray thee, who Is virtuous, heroic, true? Firm in his vows, of grateful mind, To every creature good and kind? Alone most fair to all men’s eyes? Devoid of envy, firm, and sage, Whose tranquil soul ne'er yields to rage? Whom, when his warrior wrath is high, Do Gods embattled fear and fly? Whose noble might and gentle skill The triple world can guard from ill? Who is the best of princes, he Who loves his people’s good to see."

"And the high mandate of his sire. Led by the Lord who rules the sky, The Gods and heavenly saints drew nigh, And honoured him with worthy meed, Rejoicing in each glorious deed. His task achieved, his foe removed, He triumphed, by the Gods approved. By grace of Heaven he raised to life The chieftains slain in mortal strife; Then in the magic chariot through The clouds to Nandigráma flew. Met by his faithful brothers there, He loosed his votive coil of hair: Thence fair Ayodhyá's town he gained, And o'er his father's kingdom reigned. Disease or famine ne'er oppressed His happy people, richly blest."

"It’s too cold. Away from the worlds, where a little pleasure costs a lot of pain. Don’t make trouble."

"As a young man, Valmiki searched through the world seeking open friendship and happiness and hope and finding none of these he went alone into the empty forest where no man lived, to as spot where the Tamasa River flows into Ganga. There he sat for years without moving, so still that white ants built an anthill over him. There Valmiki sat inside that anthill for thousands of years with only his eyes showing out, trying to find the True, his hands folded and his mind lost in contemplation."

"Would I ever? See how Life goes by, with every creature doing what follows his nature. Master, what can I say to you?"

"Just name me one honest man and I'll move."

"Rama! Come out of there!."

"Who is Rama?""

"Rama rules as King in Ayodhya. He is born in the Solar race and a descendant of the Sun; he is brave and gentle and firm in fight. By Rama's command his adorable Queen Sita is being brought here into the forest on a chariot, and though she suspects nothing yet, here she will be left abandoned. Unless you comfort her she will drown herself in Ganga and kill as well her unborn sons by Rama."

"What did she do wrong?"

"Nothing. She is innocent and blameless. She has lived as Rama’s queen ten thousand years; before that Rama saved her from great danger by wondrous and incredible deeds. And now behold one of the terrors of kingship, that Rama let her go because his people talk against her. Get up, save her life with you and your companions; and make in measured words the song of Rama, and teach it to Rama’s two sons."

"I have no companions here."

"You have now. Coming here, I sang a friend-gathering song. Valmiki, I've seen other skies than these, other worlds, and other friends. People are counting on you... and I can hear the chariot from Ayodhya approaching across Ganga."

"I have no skill in any craft, even in words."

"Act now Valmiki; Call out and the rest must follow."

"Valmiki stood up and broke free out of that hard anthill. Suddenly he saw all around him many houses of hermits and their families, young trees carefully watered, a retreat cleared from the forest. Four boys ran up to him from the river and cried "The wife of some great warrior weeps by Ganges. She is fair as a Goddess fallen from heaven, all bewildered, all alone, never seen before, with child, and with small gifts tied from the city within a silk cloth beside her. Go to her, welcome her and protect her."

"Sita, stay here in my hermitage, you have found here your father's house in a foreign land, we will care for you as our daughter. Looking at Sita he thought :What a fair woman, how beautiful!"

"Valmiki went alone to the clear Ganga waterside and bathed. He washed away the anthill dust and peeled grey bark from a tree and made new fresh clothes.Then he sat back resting against a stone. He watched two small water birds in a tree nearby. The male bird was singing to his mate when before Valmiki’s eyes an arrow hit him, and the little bird fell from the limb. He thrashed on the ground an instant and then lay dead and blood drops strained his feathers."

"Heartbroken the dead bird’s mate cried – Your long feathers! Your tuneful songs. A bird hunter came from the forest holding a bow. Valmiki’s heart was pounding and he cursed the killer."

"Valmiki the Poet held all the moving world inside a water drop in his hand. The gods and saints from heaven looked down on Lanka, And Valmiki looked down at the gods in the morning of Time."

"His [Valmiki’s] Ramayan is generally treated as Adi Kavya, the first Sanskrit poetry ever written. While it was part of oral tradition for centuries, it reached its final form somewhere between 200 BC and 200 AD. The content took a lyrical form after he experienced a painful episode."

"Legendary sage Valmiki, venerated as the ‘Adikavi’, First Poet, in Sanskrit, though unequivocally recognises Rama as an incarnation of Lord Vishnu in Threthayuga, second aeon in the cycle of ages, depicts the hero Rama as the most virtuous human being, personifying all the highest ingredients of Dharma."

"Rishi Valmiki taught us that in order to make progress in society, you have to take along Shabari with you; if you want your society to progress, you have to ensure that even vanars stand by you. If you want to move ahead, you have to embrace Kevat. ...We have come together at this place to express our commitment to follow his message.... Rishi Valmiki laid central focus on awakening the power of truth in order to destroy evil. He did not desire or envisage the slaying of demonic forces merely through the force of war. He has presented a whole vision of a well-organised society in order to defeat asuri (demonic) powers. Prabhu Ramchandra was competent to handle his adversary [Ravan] by himself. But Rishi Valmiki inspired him to mobilise and carry along the power of the entire range of vanjeevan (forest life) including vanars (monkeys), to ignite divine energy in them for the purpose of destroying subversive forces in society that appear in the form of asuras (demons). This social mobilisation of the good included not just Ravan’s own brother and son, but his whole family. Rishi Valmiki has taught us to live by energising and bringing together positive energies of society in order to destroy asuri shakti. He taught us that in order to make progress in society, you have to take along Shabari with you; if you want your society to progress, you have to ensure that even vanars stand by you. If you want to move ahead, you have to embrace Kevat . Rishi Valmiki gave all these messages. We have come together at this place to express our commitment to follow his message."

"It is surely more important to discover what he [Valmiki] had in mind when he wrote the work [Ramayana] and how he intended his readers to study and interpret it. From this standpoint, there is hardly any doubt that his intention was to delineate Rama as an avatar."

"He excels in description of forests and the hermitages of sages. Nature, in all its aspects and varieties — trees, mountains, rivers, clouds, dawn, sunset, had a great fascination for him. His sketches of some of the sages have a deft touch and they dwell on the greatness of penance and the sublimity of a spiritual life of self-realisation."

"The two most ancient epics of India are called the Ramayana and the Mahabharata. The oldest of these epics is called the Ramayana or "The Life of Rama". The name of the poet, or sage, was Valmiki. And this is how he became a poet. One day as this sage, Valmiki, was going to bathe in the holy river Ganga, he saw a pair of doves wheeling round and round, and kissing each other. The sage looked up and was pleased at the sight, but in a second an arrow whisked past him and killed the male dove."

"As the dove fell down on the ground, the female dove went on whirling round and round the dead body of its companion in grief. In a moment the poet became miserable, and looking round, he saw the hunter. "Thou art a wretch," he cried, without the smallest mercy!, "I have never spoken in this sort of way before.""

"Be not afraid. This is poetry that is coming out of your mouth. Write the life of Rama in poetic language for the benefit of the world. And that is how the poem first began. The first verse sprang out of pity, from the mouth of the first poet. And it was after that he [Valmiki] wrote the beautiful Ramayana, the “Life of Rama”."

"The Ramayana contains the stories of the northeastern kingdoms. But here the legends were rewritten by one man, the poet Valmiki, who played a role analogous to that of Homer."

"He [Válmíki] was the son of Varuna, the regent of the waters, one of whose names is Prachetas. According to the Adhyátmá Rámáyana, the sage, although a Bráhman by birth, associated with foresters and robbers. Attacking on one occasion the seven Rishis, they expostulated with him successfully, and taught him the mantra of Ráma reversed, or Mará, Mará, in the inaudible repetition of which he remained immovable for thousands of years, so that when the sages returned to the same spot they found him still there, converted into a valmik or ant-hill, by the nests of the termites, whence his name of Válmíki."

"He [Válmíki] is said to have lived a solitary life in the woods: he is called both a muni and a rishi. The former word properly signifies an anchorite or hermit; the latter has reference chiefly to wisdom. The two words are frequently used promiscuously, and may both be rendered by the Latin cates in its earliest meaning of seer: Válmíki was both poet and seer, as he is said to have sung the exploits of Ráma by the aid of divining insight rather than of knowledge naturally acquired."

"Praise to Válmíki, bird of charming song, Who mounts on Poety's sublimest spray, And sweetly sings with accent clear and strong Ráma, aye Ráma, in his deathless lay."

"Where breathes the man can listen to the strain That flows in music from Válmíki's tongue, Nor feel his feet the path of bliss attain When Ráma's glory by the saint is sung!"

"The stream Rámáyan leaves its sacred fount The whole wide world from sin and stain to free. The Prince of Hermits is the parent mount, The lordly Ráma is the darling sea."

"Glory to him whose fame is ever bright! Glory to him, Prachetas' holy son! Whose pure lips quaff with ever new delight The nectar-sea of deeds by Ráma done."

"Hail, arch-ascetic, pious, good, and kind! Hail, Saint Válmíki, lord of every lore! Hail, holy Hermit, calm and pure of mind! Hail, First of Bards, Válmíki, hail once more!"

"Valmiki (14th - 15th century B.C.), the author of the epic Ramayana, bears comparison with Homer."

"Valmiki, Vyasa and Kalidasa are the Indian equivalents of Homer, Dante and Shakespeare. The story of Rama, the ideal son and ruler, Sita, the ideal wife, Bharata and Lakshmana, the ideal brothers and Hanuman, the ideal devotee, has been so beautifully stated in the epic poem of Ramayana that even in the remotest village of India, even the most illiterate man, woman or child is familiar with the characters and situations in the story. The credit for this goes to the poetic and dramatic genius of Valmiki."

"Though the subsequent poets like Tulsidas and Kamban have restated the story in their own style, their inspiration has been Valmiki. No poem in the world is superior to the Ramayana of Valmiki, **Aurobindo"

"Ratnakar, the bandit, became the poet Valmiki. Once when he tried to rob a sage, of his meagre belongings, he was told that no one else but he would suffer the consequences of his misdeeds. Repentant and reformed, he asked the sage for the way out of sin. He was told to recite Mara, mar (reverse of Rama). The bandit sat in penance and recited the mantra and forgot the world. An anthill enveloped him. When he was dug out, he was a realised soul and called Valmiki (one who came out of Valmike - Sanskrit for anthill). The urge to write Ramayana was triggered by Valmiki's sensitive reaction to the wailing of a bird, whose mate was killed by a hunter. The ideal society portrayed so realistically in the Ramayana by Valmiki made Gandhiji name the Utopia he envisaged for India: Rama Rajya!"

"Primus at ille labor versu tenuisse legentem Suspensum, incertumque dia qui denique rerum Eventus maneant."

"Jam vero cum rem propones, nomine nunquam Prodere conveniet manifesto: semper opertis Indiciis, longe et verborum ambage petita Significant, umbraque obducunt: inde tamen, ceu Sublustri e nebula, rerum tralucet imago Clarius, et certis datur omnia cernere signis. Hinc si dura mihi passus dicendus Ulysses, Non ilium vero memorabo nomine, sed qui Et mores hominum multorum vidit et urbes Naufragus, eversae post saeva incendia Trojae, Addam alia, angustis complectens omnia dictis."

"Saepe etiam memorandum inter ludicra memento, Permiscere aliquid breviter, mortalia corda Quod moveat, tangens humanae commoda vitae, Qodque olim jubeant natos meminisse parentes."

"Praeterea haud lateat te nil conarier artem, Naturam nisi ut assimulet, propiusque sequatur. Hanc unam vates sibi proposuere magistram: Quicquid agunt, hujus semper vestigia servant."

"Nec dubitem versus hirsuti saepe poetae Suspensus lustrare, et vestigare legendo, Sicubi se quaedam forte inter commoda versu Dicta meo ostendant, quae mox melioribus ipse Auspiciis proprios possim mihi vertere in usus, Detersa prorsus prisca rubigine scabra."

"Idcirco si quando ducum referenda virumque Nomina dura nimis dictu, atque asperrima cultu, Illa aliqui, nunc addentes, nunc inde putantes Pauca minutatim, levant, ac mollia reddunt."

"Principio quoniam magni commercia coeli Numina concessere homini, cui carmina curae, Ipse Deum genitor divinam noluit artem Omnibus expositam vulgo, immeritisque patere: Atque ideo, turbam quo longe arceret inertem, Angustam esse viam voluit, paucisque licere."

"Haud satis est illis utcunque claudere versum, Et res verborum propria vi reddere claras; Omnia sed numeris vocum concordibus aptant, Atque sono, quaecunque canunt, imitantur."

"Tunc longe sale saxa sonant, tunc et freta ventis Incipiunt agitata tumescere: littore fluctus Illidunt rauco."

"Gratantes plausu excipient: tua gloria coelo Succedet, nomenque tuum sinus ultimus orbis Audiet, ac nullo diffusum abolebitur aevo."

"Ipse viam tantum potui docuisse repertam Aonas ad montes, longeque ostendere Musas Plaudentes celsae choreas in vertice rupis."

"Ludimus effigiem belli, simulataque veris Praelia, buxo acies fictas, et ludicra regna, Ut gemini inter se reges albusque, nigerque Pro laude oppositi certent bicoloribus armis."

"But see! each Muse, in Leo's golden days, Starts from her trance, and trims her withered bays; Rome's ancient genius, o'er its ruins spread, Shakes off the dust, and rears his reverend head. Then sculpture and her sister-arts revive; Stones leaped to form, and rocks began to live; With sweeter notes each rising temple rung; A Raphael painted, and a Vida sung! Immortal Vida! on whose honoured brow The poet's bays and critic's ivy grow: Cremona now shall ever boast thy name, As next in place to Mantua, next in fame!"

"Ἀρχόμενος σέο Φοῖβε παλαιγενέων κλέα φωτῶν μνήσομαι οἳ Πόντοιο κατὰ στόμα καὶ διὰ πέτρας Κυανέας βασιλῆος ἐφημοσύνῃ Πελίαο χρύσειον μετὰ κῶας ἐύζυγον ἤλασαν Ἀργώ."

"Ἦ, καὶ ὁ μὲν φόρμιγγα σὺν ἀμβροσίῃ σχέθεν αὐδῇ· τοὶ δ᾽ ἄμοτον λήξαντος ἔτι προύχοντο κάρηνα πάντες ὁμῶς ὀρθοῖσιν ἐπ᾽ οὔασιν ἠρεμέοντες κηληθμῷ· τοῖόν σφιν ἐνέλλιπε θέλκτρον ἀοιδῆς."

"Πάντες δ᾽ οὐρανόθεν λεῦσσον θεοὶ ἤματι κείνῳ νῆα καὶ ἡμιθέων ἀνδρῶν μένος, οἳ τότ᾽ ἄριστοι πόντον ἐπιπλώεσκον."

"Ἡ δὲ νέον κρήνης ἀνεδύετο καλλινάοιο νύμφη ἐφυδατίη· τὸν δὲ σχεδὸν εἰσενόησεν κάλλεϊ καὶ γλυκερῇσιν ἐρευθόμενον χαρίτεσσιν. πρὸς γάρ οἱ διχόμηνις ἀπ᾽ αἰθέρος αὐγάζουσα βάλλε σεληναίη. τὴν δὲ φρένας ἐπτοίησεν Κύπρις, ἀμηχανίῃ δὲ μόλις συναγείρατο θυμόν. αὐτὰρ ὅγ᾽ ὡς τὰ πρῶτα ῥόῳ ἔνι κάλπιν ἔρεισεν λέχρις ἐπιχριμφθείς, περὶ δ᾽ ἄσπετον ἔβραχεν ὕδωρ χαλκὸν ἐς ἠχήεντα φορεύμενον, αὐτίκα δ᾽ ἥγε λαιὸν μὲν καθύπερθεν ἐπ᾽ αὐχένος ἄνθετο πῆχυν κύσσαι ἐπιθύουσα τέρεν στόμα· δεξιτερῇ δὲ ἀγκῶν᾽ ἔσπασε χειρί, μέσῃ δ᾽ ἐνικάββαλε δίνῃ."

"The Harpies swooped down through the clouds and snatched the food from his mouth and hands with their beaks, sometimes leaving him not a morsel, sometimes a few scraps, so that he might live and be tormented."

"Πέτρας μὲν πάμπρωτον, ἀφορμηθέντες ἐμεῖο, Κυανέας ὄψεσθε δύω ἁλὸς ἐν ξυνοχῇσιν, τάων οὔτινά φημι διαμπερὲς ἐξαλέασθαι. οὐ γάρ τε ῥίζῃσιν ἐρήρεινται νεάτῃσιν, ἀλλὰ θαμὰ ξυνίασιν ἐναντίαι ἀλλήλῃσιν εἰς ἕν, ὕπερθε δὲ πολλὸν ἁλὸς κορθύεται ὕδωρ βρασσόμενον· στρηνὲς δὲ περὶ στυφελῇ βρέμει ἀκτῇ. τῶ νῦν ἡμετέρῃσι παραιφασίῃσι πίθεσθε, εἰ ἐτεὸν πυκινῷ τε νόῳ μακάρων τ᾽ ἀλέγοντες πείρετε· μηδ᾽ αὔτως αὐτάγρετον οἶτον ὄλησθε ἀφραδέως, ἢ θύνετ᾽ ἐπισπόμενοι νεότητι. οἰωνῷ δὴ πρόσθε πελειάδι πειρήσασθαι νηὸς ἄπο προμεθέντες ἐφιέμεν. ἢν δὲ δι᾽ αὐτῶν πετράων πόντονδε σόη πτερύγεσσι δίηται, μηκέτι δὴν μηδ᾽ αὐτοὶ ἐρητύεσθε κελεύθου, ἀλλ᾽ εὖ καρτύναντες ἑαῖς ἐνὶ χερσὶν ἐρετμὰ τέμνεθ᾽ ἁλὸς στεινωπόν· ἐπεὶ φάος οὔ νύ τι τόσσον ἔσσετ᾽ ἐν εὐχωλῇσιν, ὅσον τ᾽ ἐνὶ κάρτεϊ χειρῶν. τῶ καὶ τἆλλα μεθέντες ὀνήιστον πονέεσθαι θαρσαλέως· πρὶν δ᾽ οὔτι θεοὺς λίσσεσθαι ἐρύκω. εἰ δέ κεν ἀντικρὺ πταμένη μεσσηγὺς ὄληται, ἄψορροι στέλλεσθαι· ἐπεὶ πολὺ βέλτερον εἶξαι ἀθανάτοις. οὐ γάρ κε κακὸν μόρον ἐξαλέαισθε πετράων, οὐδ᾽ εἴ κε σιδηρείη πέλοι Ἀργώ."

"ἔνθ᾽ ἐπεὶ ἄρ κε τέκωνται ὑπ᾽ ἀνδράσι τέκνα γυναῖκες, αὐτοὶ μὲν στενάχουσιν ἐνὶ λεχέεσσι πεσόντες, κράατα δησάμενοι· ταὶ δ᾽ εὖ κομέουσιν ἐδωδῇ ἀνέρας, ἠδὲ λοετρὰ λεχώια τοῖσι πένονται."

"Ἱρὸν δ᾽ αὖτ᾽ ἐπὶ τοῖσιν ὄρος καὶ γαῖαν ἄμειβον, ᾗ ἔνι Μοσσύνοικοι ἀν᾽ οὔρεα ναιετάουσιν μόσσυνας, καὶ δ᾽ αὐτοὶ ἐπώνυμοι ἔνθεν ἔασιν. ἀλλοίη δὲ δίκη καὶ θέσμια τοῖσι τέτυκται. ὅσσα μὲν ἀμφαδίην ῥέζειν θέμις, ἢ ἐνὶ δήμῳ, ἢ ἀγορῇ, τάδε πάντα δόμοις ἔνι μηχανόωνται· ὅσσα δ᾽ ἐνὶ μεγάροις πεπονήμεθα, κεῖνα θύραζε ἀψεγέως μέσσῃσιν ἐνὶ ῥέζουσιν ἀγυιαῖς. οὐδ᾽ εὐνῆς αἰδὼς ἐπιδήμιος, ἀλλά, σύες ὣς φορβάδες, οὐδ᾽ ἠβαιὸν ἀτυζόμενοι παρεόντας, μίσγονται χαμάδις ξυνῇ φιλότητι γυναικῶν. αὐτὰρ ἐν ὑψίστῳ βασιλεὺς μόσσυνι θαάσσων ἰθείας πολέεσσι δίκας λαοῖσι δικάζει, σχέτλιος. ἢν γάρ πού τί θεμιστεύων ἀλίτηται, μιν κεῖν᾽ ἦμαρ ἐνικλείσαντες ἔχουσιν."

"Εἰ δ᾽ ἄγε νῦν, Ἐρατώ, παρά θ᾽ ἵστασο, καί μοι ἔνισπε, ἔνθεν ὅπως ἐς Ἰωλκὸν ἀνήγαγε κῶας Ἰήσων Μηδείης ὑπ᾽ ἔρωτι."

"Καὶ δ᾽ ἄλλως ἔτι καὶ πρὶν ἐμοὶ μέγα φίλατ᾽ Ἰήσων ἐξότ᾽ ἐπὶ προχοῇσιν ἅλις πλήθοντος Ἀναύρου ἀνδρῶν εὐνομίης πειρωμένῃ ἀντεβόλησεν θήρης ἐξανιών· νιφετῷ δ᾽ ἐπαλύνετο πάντα οὔρεα καὶ σκοπιαὶ περιμήκεες, οἱ δὲ κατ᾽ αὐτῶν χείμαρροι καναχηδὰ κυλινδόμενοι φορέοντο. γρηὶ δέ μ᾽ εἰσαμένην ὀλοφύρατο, καί μ᾽ ἀναείρας αὐτὸς ἑοῖς ὤμοισι διὲκ προαλὲς φέρεν ὕδωρ. τῶ νύ μοι ἄλληκτον περιτίεται."

"[Aphrodite] set out, and after searching up and down Olympus for her boy, found him far away in the fruit-laden orchard of Zeus. With him was Ganymede, whose beauty had so captivated Zeus that he took him up to heaven to live with the immortals. The two lads, who had much in common, were playing with golden knuckle-bones. Eros, the greedy boy, was standing there with a whole handful of them clutched to his breast and a happy flush mantling his cheeks. Near by sat Ganymede, hunched up, silent and disconsolate, with only two left. He threw these for what they were worth in quick succession and was furious when Eros laughed. Of course he lost them both immediately – they joined the rest. So he went off in despair with empty hands and did not notice the goddess's approach. Aphrodite came up to her boy, took his chin in her hand, and said: 'Why this triumphant smile, you rascal?'"

"Νὺξ μὲν ἔπειτ᾽ ἐπὶ γαῖαν ἄγεν κνέφας· οἱ δ᾽ ἐνὶ πόντῳ ναῦται εἰς Ἑλίκην τε καὶ ἀστέρας Ὠρίωνος ἔδρακον ἐκ νηῶν· ὕπνοιο δὲ καί τις ὁδίτης ἤδη καὶ πυλαωρὸς ἐέλδετο· καί τινα παίδων μητέρα τεθνεώτων ἀδινὸν περὶ κῶμ᾽ ἐκάλυπτεν· οὐδὲ κυνῶν ὑλακὴ ἔτ᾽ ἀνὰ πτόλιν, οὐ θρόος ἦεν σιγὴ δὲ μελαινομένην ἔχεν ὄρφνην. ἀλλὰ μάλ᾽ οὐ Μήδειαν ἐπὶ γλυκερὸς λάβεν ὕπνος. πολλὰ γὰρ Αἰσονίδαο πόθῳ μελεδήματ᾽ ἔγειρεν δειδυῖαν ταύρων κρατερὸν μένος, οἷσιν ἔμελλεν φθίσθαι ἀεικελίῃ μοίρῃ κατὰ νειὸν Ἄρηος. Πυκνὰ δέ οἱ κραδίη στηθέων ἔντοσθεν ἔθυιεν."

"Ἠελίου ὥς τίς τε δόμοις ἐνιπάλλεται αἴγλη ὕδατος ἐξανιοῦσα, τὸ δὴ νέον ἠὲ λέβητι ἠέ που ἐν γαυλῷ κέχυται· ἡ δ᾽ ἔνθα καὶ ἔνθα ὠκείῃ στροφάλιγγι τινάσσεται ἀίσσουσα."

"Δύσμορος· οὐ μὲν ἔολπα καταφθιμένοιό περ ἔμπης λωφήσειν ἀχέων· τότε δ᾽ ἂν κακὸν ἄμμι πέλοιτο, κεῖνος ὅτε ζωῆς ἀπαμείρεται. ἐρρέτω αἰδώς, ἐρρέτω ἀγλαΐη· ὁ δ᾽ ἐμῇ ἰότητι σαωθεὶς ἀσκηθής, ἵνα οἱ θυμῷ φίλον, ἔνθα νέοιτο. αὐτὰρ ἐγὼν αὐτῆμαρ, ὅτ᾽ ἐξανύσειεν ἄεθλον, τεθναίην, ἢ λαιμὸν ἀναρτήσασα μελάθρῳ, ἢ καὶ πασσαμένη ῥαιστήρια φάρμακα θυμοῦ. ἀλλὰ καὶ ὧς φθιμένῃ μοι ἐπιλλίξουσιν ὀπίσσω κερτομίας· τηλοῦ δὲ πόλις περὶ πᾶσα βοήσει πότμον ἐμόν· καί κέν με διὰ στόματος φορέουσαι Κολχίδες ἄλλυδις ἄλλαι ἀεικέα μωμήσονται· ἥτις κηδομένη τόσον ἀνέρος ἀλλοδαποῖο κάτθανεν, ἥτις δῶμα καὶ οὓς ᾔσχυνε τοκῆας, μαργοσύνῃ εἴξασα. τί δ᾽ οὐκ ἐμὸν ἔσσεται αἶσχος; ᾤ μοι ἐμῆς ἄτης. ἦ τ᾽ ἂν πολὺ κέρδιον εἴη αὐτῇ ἐν νυκτὶ λιπεῖν βίον ἐν θαλάμοισιν πότμῳ ἀνωίστῳ, κάκ᾽ ἐλέγχεα πάντα φυγοῦσαν, πρὶν τάδε λωβήεντα καὶ οὐκ ὀνομαστὰ τελέσσαι."

"Ἦ, καὶ φωριαμὸν μετεκίαθεν, ᾗ ἔνι πολλὰ φάρμακά οἱ, τὰ μὲν ἐσθλά, τὰ δὲ ῥαιστήρι᾽, ἔκειτο. ἐνθεμένη δ᾽ ἐπὶ γούνατ᾽ ὀδύρετο. δεῦε δὲ κόλπους ἄλληκτον δακρύοισι, τὰ δ᾽ ἔρρεεν ἀσταγὲς αὔτως, αἴν᾽ ὀλοφυρομένης τὸν ἑὸν μόρον. ἵετο δ᾽ ἥγε φάρμακα λέξασθαι θυμοφθόρα, τόφρα πάσαιτο. ἤδη καὶ δεσμοὺς ἀνελύετο φωριαμοῖο, ἐξελέειν μεμαυῖα, δυσάμμορος. ἀλλά οἱ ἄφνω δεῖμ᾽ ὀλοὸν στυγεροῖο κατὰ φρένας ἦλθ᾽ Ἀίδαο. ἔσχετο δ᾽ ἀμφασίῃ δηρὸν χρόνον, ἀμφὶ δὲ πᾶσαι βιότοιο μεληδόνες ἰνδάλλοντο. μνήσατο μὲν τερπνῶν, ὅσ᾽ ἐνὶ ζωοῖσι πέλονται, μνήσαθ᾽ ὁμηλικίης περιγηθέος, οἷά τε κούρη· καί τέ οἱ ἠέλιος γλυκίων γένετ᾽ εἰσοράασθαι, ἢ πάρος, εἰ ἐτεόν γε νόῳ ἐπεμαίεθ᾽ ἕκαστα. καὶ τὴν μέν ῥα πάλιν σφετέρων ἀποκάτθετο γούνων, Ἥρης ἐννεσίῃσι μετάτροπος."

"Πυκνὰ δ᾽ ἀνὰ κληῖδας ἑῶυ λύεσκε θυράων, αἴγλην σκεπτομένη· τῇ δ᾽ ἀσπάσιον βάλε φέγγος Ἠριγενής, κίνυντο δ᾽ ἀνὰ πτολίεθρον ἕκαστοι."

"Οὐδ᾽ ἄρα Μηδείης θυμὸς τράπετ᾽ ἄλλα νοῆσαι, μελπομένης περ ὅμως· πᾶσαι δέ οἱ, ἥντιν᾽ ἀθύροι μολπήν, οὐκ ἐπὶ δηρὸν ἐφήνδανεν ἑψιάασθαι. ἀλλὰ μεταλλήγεσκεν ἀμήχανος, οὐδέ ποτ᾽ ὄσσε ἀμφιπόλων μεθ᾽ ὅμιλον ἔχ᾽ ἀτρέμας· ἐς δὲ κελεύθους τηλόσε παπταίνεσκε, παρακλίνουσα παρειάς. ἦ θαμὰ δὴ στηθέων ἐάγη κέαρ, ὁππότε δοῦπον ἢ ποδὸς ἢ ἀνέμοιο παραθρέξαντα δοάσσαι. αὐτὰρ ὅγ᾽ οὐ μετὰ δηρὸν ἐελδομένῃ ἐφαάνθη ὑψόσ᾽ ἀναθρώσκων ἅ τε Σείριος Ὠκεανοῖο, ὃς δή τοι καλὸς μὲν ἀρίζηλός τ᾽ ἐσιδέσθαι ἀντέλλει, μήλοισι δ᾽ ἐν ἄσπετον ἧκεν ὀιζύν· ἄρα τῇ καλὸς μὲν ἐπήλυθεν εἰσοράασθαι Αἰσονίδης, κάματον δὲ δυσίμερον ὦρσε φαανθείς. δ᾽ ἄρα οἱ κραδίη στηθέων πέσεν, ὄμματα δ᾽ αὔτως ἤχλυσαν· θερμὸν δὲ παρηίδας εἷλεν ἔρευθος. γούνατα δ᾽ οὔτ᾽ ὀπίσω οὔτε προπάροιθεν ἀεῖραι ἔσθενεν, ἀλλ᾽ ὑπένερθε πάγη πόδας. αἱ δ᾽ ἄρα τείως ἀμφίπολοι μάλα πᾶσαι ἀπὸ σφείων ἐλίασθεν. τὼ δ᾽ ἄνεῳ καὶ ἄναυδοι ἐφέστασαν ἀλλήλοισιν, ἢ δρυσίν, ἢ μακρῇσιν ἐειδόμενοι ἐλάτῃσιν, τε παρᾶσσον ἕκηλοι ἐν οὔρεσιν ἐρρίζωνται, νηνεμίῃ· μετὰ δ᾽ αὖτις ὑπὸ ῥιπῆς ἀνέμοιο κινύμεναι ὁμάδησαν ἀπείριτον· ὧς ἄρα τώγε μέλλον ἅλις φθέγξασθαι ὑπὸ πνοιῇσιν Ἔρωτος."

"Ἦ γὰρ ἔοικας ἐκ μορφῆς ἀγανῇσιν ἐπητείῃσι κεκάσθαι."

"Ὧς φάτο κυδαίνων· ἡ δ᾽ ἐγκλιδὸν ὄσσε βαλοῦσα νεκτάρεον μείδησ᾽· ἐχύθη δέ οἱ ἔνδοθι θυμὸς αἴνῳ ἀειρομένης."

"Ἰαίνετο δὲ φρένας εἴσω τηκομένη, οἷόν τε περὶ ῥοδέῃσιν ἐέρση τήκεται ἠῴοισιν ἰαινομένη φαέεσσιν."

"Ἄμφω δ᾽ ἄλλοτε μέν τε κατ᾽ οὔδεος ὄμματ᾽ ἔρειδον αἰδόμενοι, ὁτὲ δ᾽ αὖτις ἐπὶ σφίσι βάλλον ὀπωπάς, ἱμερόεν φαιδρῇσιν ὑπ᾽ ὀφρύσι μειδιόωντες."

"Γυμνὸς δέμας, ἄλλα μὲν Ἄρει εἴκελος, ἄλλα δέ που χρυσαόρῳ Ἀπόλλωνι."

"And now, from somewhere in the bowels of the earth, from the smoky stronghold where they slept, the pair of bulls appeared, breathing flames of fire. The Argonauts were terrified at the sight. But Jason planting his feet apart stood to receive them... He held his shield in front of him, and the two bulls, bellowing loudly, charged and butted it with their strong horns..."

"Ὡς δ᾽ ὅτ᾽ ἐνὶ τρητοῖσιν ἐύρρινοι χοάνοισιν φῦσαι χαλκήων ὁτὲ μέν τ᾽ ἀναμαρμαίρουσιν, πῦρ ὀλοόν πιμπρᾶσαι, ὅτ᾽ αὖ λήγουσιν ἀυτμῆς, δεινὸς δ᾽ ἐξ αὐτοῦ πέλεται βρόμος, ὁππότ᾽ ἀίξῃ νειόθεν· ὧς ἄρα τώγε θοὴν φλόγα φυσιόωντες ἐκ στομάτων ὁμάδευν, τὸν δ᾽ ἄμφεπε δήιον αἶθος βάλλον ἅ τε στεροπή· κούρης δέ ἑ φάρμακ᾽ ἔρυτο."

"Αὐτὰρ ὁ ἀντικρὺ περιμήκεα τείνετο δειρὴν ὀξὺς ἀύπνοισιν προϊδὼν ὄφις ὀφθαλμοῖσιν νισσομένους, ῥοίζει δὲ πελώριον."

"Δείματι δ᾽ ἐξέγροντο λεχωίδες, ἀμφὶ δὲ παισὶν νηπιάχοις, οἵ τέ σφιν ὑπ᾽ ἀγκαλίδεσσιν ἴαυον, ῥοίζῳ παλλομένοις χεῖρας βάλον ἀσχαλόωσαι."

"Ὡς δὲ σεληναίην διχομήνιδα παρθένος αἴγλην ὑψόθεν ἐξανέχουσαν ὑπωροφίου θαλάμοιο λεπταλέῳ ἑανῷ ὑποΐσχεται· ἐν δέ οἱ ἦτορ χαίρει δερκομένης καλὸν σέλας· ὧς τότ᾽ Ἰήσων γηθόσυνος μέγα κῶας ἑαῖς ἐναείρατο χερσίν· καί οἱ ἐπὶ ξανθῇσι παρηίσιν ἠδὲ μετώπῳ μαρμαρυγῇ ληνέων φλογὶ εἴκελον ἷζεν ἔρευθος."

"θάμβησαν δὲ νέοι μέγα κῶας ἰδόντες λαμπόμενον στεροπῇ ἴκελον Διός. ὦρτο δ᾽ ἕκαστος ψαῦσαι ἐελδόμενος δέχθαι τ᾽ ἐνὶ χερσὶν ἑῇσιν."

"Σχέτλι᾽ Ἔρως, μέγα πῆμα, μέγα στύγος ἀνθρώποισιν, ἐκ σέθεν οὐλόμεναί τ᾽ ἔριδες στοναχαί τε γόοι τε, ἄλγεά τ᾽ ἄλλ᾽ ἐπὶ τοῖσιν ἀπείρονα τετρήχασιν. δυσμενέων ἐπὶ παισὶ κορύσσεο, δαῖμον, ἀερθείς, οἷος Μηδείῃ στυγερὴν φρεσὶν ἔμβαλες ἄτην."

"Αἶψα δὲ κούρη ἔμπαλιν ὄμματ᾽ ἔνεικε, καλυψαμένη ὀθόνῃσιν, μὴ φόνον ἀθρήσειε κασιγνήτοιο τυπέντος."

"Ἔνθα σφιν κοῦραι Νηρηίδες ἄλλοθεν ἄλλαι ἤντεον· ἡ δ᾽ ὄπιθεν πτέρυγος θίγε πηδαλίοιο δῖα Θέτις, Πλαγκτῇσιν ἐνὶ σπιλάδεσσιν ἐρύσσαι."

"Ὡς δ᾽ ὁπόταν δελφῖνες ὑπὲξ ἁλὸς εὐδιόωντες σπερχομένην ἀγεληδὸν ἑλίσσωνται περὶ νῆα, ἄλλοτε μἑν προπάροιθεν ὁρώμενοι, ἄλλοτ᾽ ὄπισθεν, ἄλλοτε παρβολάδην, ναύτῃσι δὲ χάρμα τέτυκται· ὧς αἱ ὑπεκπροθέουσαι ἐπήτριμοι εἱλίσσοντο Ἀργῴῃ περὶ νηί, Θέτις δ᾽ ἴθυνε κέλευθον.."

"Αἱ δ᾽, ὥστ᾽ ἠμαθόεντος ἐπισχεδὸν αἰγιαλοῖο παρθενικαί, δίχα κόλπον ἐπ᾽ ἰξύας εἱλίξασαι σφαίρῃ ἀθύρουσιν περιηγέι· αἱ μὲν ἔπειτα ἄλλη ὑπ᾽ ἐξ ἄλλης δέχεται καὶ ἐς ἠέρα πέμπει ὕψι μεταχρονίην· ἡ δ᾽ οὔποτε πίλναται οὔδει· ὧς αἱ νῆα θέουσαν ἀμοιβαδὶς ἄλλοθεν ἄλλη πέμπε διηερίην ἐπὶ κύμασιν, αἰὲν ἄπωθεν πετράων."

"Αἵδε δ᾽ ἀοιδαὶ εἰς ἔτος ἐξ ἔτεος γλυκερώτεραι εἶεν ἀείδειν ἀνθρώποις."

"If Homer sometimes nods, Apollonius may be said to be only occasionally awake, though his long fits of somnolency are relieved by fanciful and even attractive dreams."

"If the sublime be the characteristic of Homer, the romantic is that of Apollonius; and in nature and tenderness he needs not shun a comparison even with Homer. No poet has ever excelled the Rhodian in the refined display of female character; in the gay amenities, the modest reserves, the delicate artifices, the conflicting uncertainties, and the poignant sensibilities of female love. Dido is but a feeble copy of the interesting and impassioned Medea."

"Ἐπείτοιγε καὶ ἄπτωτος ὁ Ἀπολλώνιος ἐν τοῖς Ἀργοναύταις ποιητὴς ... ἆῤ οὖν Ὅμηρος ἂν μᾶλλον ἢ Ἀπολλώνιος ἐθέλοις γενέσθαι;"

"Apollonius Rhodius [shrouded] in long-drawn sweetness the inanity of his soul."

"Apollonius Rhodius was a great grammarian, as well as a poet."

"Prima deum magnis canimus freta pervia natis fatidicamque ratem, Scythici quae Phasidis oras ausa sequi mediosque inter iuga concita cursus rumpere flammifero tandem consedit Olympo."

"Tela puer facilesque umeris gaudentibus arcus gestat Hylas."

"Phoebeius Idmon, ... cui genitor tribuit monitu praenoscere divum omina, seu flammas seu lubrica comminus exta seu plenum certis interroget aera pinnis."

"Et dedit aequoreos caelo duce tendere cursus."

"Siderea tunc arce pater pulcherrima Graium coepta tuens tantamque operis consurgere molem laetatur."

"Auxerat hora metus, iam se vertentis Olympi ut faciem raptosque simul montesque locosque ex oculis circumque graves videre tenebras. ipsa quies rerum mundique silentia terrent astraque et effusis stellatus crinibus aether; ac velut ignota captus regione viarum noctivagum qui carpit iter non aure quiescit, non oculis, noctisque metus niger auget utrimque campus et occurrens umbris maioribus arbor, haud aliter trepidare viri."

"Vates Phoebo dilecta Polyxo."

"I, memor i terrae, quae vos amplexa quieto prima sinu, refer et domitis a Colchidos oris vela per hunc utero quem linquis Iasona nostro."

"Hactenus in populos vati, Samothraca, diem que missa mane sacrisque metum servemus opertis."

"Ad primos turgentia lumina fletus."

"Stagna vaga sic luce micant ubi Cynthia caelo prospicit aut medii transit rota candida Phoebi, tale iubar diffundit aquis: nil umbra comaeque turbavitque sonus surgentis ad oscula nymphae. illa avidas iniecta manus heu sera cientem auxilia et magni referentem nomen amici detrahit, adiutae prono nam pondere vires."

"Fata trahunt."

"Hic vero ingenti repetuntur pectora luctu, ut socii sedere locis nullaeque leonis exuviae tantique vacant vestigia transtri. flet pius Aeacides, maerent Poeantia corda, ingemit et dulci frater cum Castore Pollux. omnis adhuc vocat Alciden fugiente carina, omnis Hylan, medio pereunt iam nomina ponto."

"Melior vulgi nam saepe voluntas."

"Sonitu tremebunda profundi."

"Dixit et urgentis post saeva piacula fati nescius extremum hoc armis innectere palmas dat famulis."

"Spumanti qualis in alto Pliade capta ratis, trepidi quam sola magistri cura tenet, rapidum ventis certantibus aequor intemerata secat, Pollux sic providus ictus servat."

"Nullus adempti regis amor: montem celeres silvamque capessunt."

"Fallere quas nusquam misero locus."

"Diripiunt verruntque dapes foedataque turbant pocula, saevit odor surgitque miserrima pugna parque mihi monstrisque fames. sprevere quod omnes pollueruntque manu quodque unguibus excidit atris has mihi fert in luce moras."

"Unda laborantes praeceps rotat."

"Effluit imber spumeus et magno puppem procul aequore vestit."

"Illa volans tenui per concita saxa luce fugit."

"Hic Iuno praecepsque ex aethere Pallas insiliunt pariter scopulos: hunc nata coercet, hunc coniunx Iovis."

"Haud temere est, fato divum reor ad mea vectos litora vos."

"Dicta dabant ventis nec debita fata movebant."

"Percutit ore lyram nomenque relinquit harenis."

"Blandos que Iovis quae luserat ignes caelicolis immota procis: deceptus amatae fraude deae nec solus Halys nec solus Apollo."

"At Iuno et summi virgo Iovis intima secum consilia et varias sociabant pectore curas."

"Rebus semper pudor absit in artis."

"Et Scythicam qui se comitentur ad urbem sorte petit numeroque novem ducuntur ab omni."

"Talibus orantem vultu gravis ille minaci iamdudum premit et furiis ignescit opertis."

"Velut ante comas ac summa cacumina silvae lenibus adludit flabris levis Auster, at illum protinus immanem miserae sensere carinae."

"Nox simul astriferas profert optabilis umbras."

"Respexit que fores et adhuc invenit euntem, visus et heu miserae tunc pulchrior hospes amanti discedens; tales umeros, ea terga relinquit."

"Quid me autem sic ille movet, superetne labores an cadat?"

"Saepe suas misero promittere destinat artes, denegat atque una potius decernit in ira ac neque tam turpi cessuram semet amori proclamat."

"Tune sequeris' ait 'quidquam aut patiere pudendum cum tibi tot mortes scelerisque brevissima tanti effugia?"

"Et, qua sibi fida magis vis nulla, Prometheae florem de sanguine fibrae promit nutritaque gramina monti, quae sacer ille nives inter tristesque pruinas durat alitque cruor."

"Gemit inritus ille Colchidos ora tuens. totos tunc contrahit artus monte dolor cunctaeque tremunt sub falce catenae."

"Haud secus in mediis noctis nemoris que tenebris inciderant ambo attoniti iuxtaque subibant abietibus tacitis aut immotis cyparissis adsimiles, rapidus nondum quas miscuit Auster."

"Nec quibus incipiat demens videt ordine nec quo quove tenus, prima cupiens effundere voce omnia, sed nec prima pudor dat verba timenti."

"Tum vero extremo percussa dolore arripit Aesoniden dextra ac summissa profatur: 'sis memor, oro, mei, contra memor ipsa manebo, crede, tui. quantum hinc aberis, dic quaeso, profundi? quod caeli spectabo latus?"

"Cessit et ad socios paulum se rettulit heros opperiens."

"At trepidam in thalamis et iam sua facta paventem Colchida circa omnes pariter furiaeque minaeque patris habent."

"Latmius aestiva residet venator in umbra dignus amore deae, velatis cornibus et iam Luna venit."

"Ecce autem pavidae virgo de more columbae quae super ingenti circumdata praepetis umbra in quemcumque tremens hominem cadit, haud secus illa acta timore gravi mediam se misit."

"Contra Tartareis Colchis spumare venenis cunctaque Lethaei quassare silentia rami perstat et adverso luctantia lumina cantu obruit atque omnem linguaque manuque fatigat vim Stygiam."

"Iamque altae cecidere iubae nutatque coactum iam caput atque ingens extra sua vellera cervix ceu refluens Padus aut septem proiectus in amnes Nilus et Hesperium veniens Alpheos in orbem."

"Cuius adhuc rutilam servabant bracchia pellem, nubibus accensis similem aut cum veste recincta labitur ardenti Thaumantias obvia Phoebo."

"Micat omnis ager villisque comantem sidereis totos pellem nunc fundit in artus, nunc in colla refert, nunc implicat ille sinistrae."

"Interea patrias saevus venit horror ad aures fata domus luctumque ferens fraudemque fugamque virginis."

"Absyrtus subita praeceps cum classe parentis advehitur profugis infestam lampada Grais concutiens."

"Are they heroes or mere dreamers?"

"O mihi curarum pretium non vile mearum, Flacce, Antenorei spes et alumne laris, Pierios differ cantusque chorosque sororum; Aes dabit ex istis nulla puella tibi. Quid petis a Phoebo? nummos habet arca Minervae; Haec sapit, haec omnes fenerat una deos. Quid possunt hederae Bacchi dare? Pallados arbor Inclinat varias pondere nigra comas. Praeter aquas Helicon et serta lyrasque dearum Nil habet et magnum, sed perinane sophos. Quid tibi cum Cirrha? quid cum Permesside nuda? Romanum propius divitiusque forum est. Illic aera sonant: at circum pulpita nostra Et steriles cathedras basia sola crepant."

"Multum in Valerio Flacco nuper amisimus."

"West Lake flower garden: a desert, now. Alone, at the window, I read through old pages. A smudge of rouge, a scent of perfume, but I still weep. Is there a Fate for books? Why mourn for a half-burned poem? There is nothing, there is no one to question, and yet this misery feels like my own. Ah, in another three hundred years will anyone weep, remembering my fate?"

"Trăm năm trong cõi người ta, Chữ tài chữ mệnh khéo là ghét nhau. Trải qua một cuộc bể dâu, Những điều trông thấy mà đau đớn lòng. Lạ gì bỉ sắc tư phong, Trời xanh quen thói má hồng đánh ghen."

"Cảo thơm lần giở trước đèn, Phong tình có lục còn truyền sử xanh."

"Đau đớn thay phận đàn bà! Lời rằng bạc mệnh cũng là lời chung."

"Người quốc sắc, kẻ thiên tài, Tình trong như đã, mặt ngoài còn e. Chập chờn cơn tỉnh cơn mê."

"Rằng: trăm năm cũng từ đây, Của tin gọi một chút này làm ghi."

"Bây giờ rõ mặt đôi ta, Biết đâu rồi nữa chẳng là chiêm bao?"

"Duyên hội ngộ, đức cù lao, Bên tình bên hiếu, bên nào nặng hơn? Để lời thệ hải minh sơn, Làm con trước phải đền ơn sinh thành."

"Trông vời cố quốc biết đâu là nhà."

"Sen tàn cúc lại nở hoa, Sầu dài ngày ngắn đông đà sang xuân."

"Trời còn để có hôm nay, Tan sương đầu ngõ vén mây giữa trời."

"Thiện căn ở tại lòng ta, Chữ tâm kia mới bằng ba chữ tài."

"As a medium for literature in Vietnam, the native tongue had been fighting a difficult battle against classical Chinese since the early part of the fifteenth century, when Nguyễn Trãi (1380–1442) wrote his short poems of four or eight lines. In a poem of over three thousand lines, Nguyễn Du led that fight to a victorious conclusion... By triumphantly rescuing Vietnamese poetry from the stranglehold of classical Chinese, Nguyễn Du performed for the vernacular what Dante had once done for Italian, liberating it from its position of subservience to Latin."

"Born into those foul times of dusk and dust, you reached and touched no soul mate by your side. Your sorrow matched the fate of humankind: Kieu spoke your thoughts and crystallized your life.Kings rose and fell—the poem still abides. You fought and won your feats on waves of words. You planted stakes in the Bach-dang of time: our language and the moon forever shine."