Maxioms by John Fletcher
Man is his own star, and the soul that can
Render an honest and a perfect man,
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Man is his own star, and the soul that can
Render an honest and a perfect man,
Commands all light, all influence, all fate,
Nothing to him falls early or too late.
Our acts, our angles are, or good or ill,
Our fatal shadows that walk by us still.
Oh love will make a dog howl in rhyme.
Oh love will make a dog howl in rhyme.
Weep no more, nor sigh, nor groan,
Sorrow calls no time that's gone:
Violets plucked the sweetest read more
Weep no more, nor sigh, nor groan,
Sorrow calls no time that's gone:
Violets plucked the sweetest rain
Makes not fresh nor grow again.
Poetry is what gets lost in translation.
Poetry is what gets lost in translation.
Go far -- too far you cannot, still the farther. The more experience finds you: and go sparing. One meal read more
Go far -- too far you cannot, still the farther. The more experience finds you: and go sparing. One meal a week will serve you, and one suit, Through all your travels; for you'll find it certain. The poorer and the baser you appear, The more you look through still.