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Beauty is but a flower,Which wrinkles will devour;Brightness falls from the air;Queens have died young and fair;Dust hath closed Helen's read more
Beauty is but a flower,Which wrinkles will devour;Brightness falls from the air;Queens have died young and fair;Dust hath closed Helen's eye.I am sick, I must die;Lord have mercy on us. - Song in Time of Pestilence.
Till last by Philip's farm I flowTo join the brimming river,For men may come and men may go,But I go read more
Till last by Philip's farm I flowTo join the brimming river,For men may come and men may go,But I go on for ever. - The Brook.
Literature is an avenue to glory, ever open for those ingenious
men who are deprived of honours or of read more
Literature is an avenue to glory, ever open for those ingenious
men who are deprived of honours or of wealth.
Who dares to teach must never cease to learn.
Who dares to teach must never cease to learn.
The advantage of a classical education is that it enables you to despise the wealth which it prevents you from read more
The advantage of a classical education is that it enables you to despise the wealth which it prevents you from achieving.
If a poet has any obligation toward society, it is to write well. Being in the minority, he has no read more
If a poet has any obligation toward society, it is to write well. Being in the minority, he has no other choice. Failing this duty, he sinks into oblivion. Society, on the other hand, has no obligation toward the poet. A majority by definition, society thinks of itself as having other options than reading verses, no matter how well written. Its failure to do so results in its sinking to that level of locution at which society falls easy prey to a demagogue or a tyrant. This is society's own equivalent of oblivion.
If someone had told me I would be Pope one day, I would have studied harder.
If someone had told me I would be Pope one day, I would have studied harder.
Oh you who are born of the blood of the gods, Trojan son of Anchises, easy is the descent to read more
Oh you who are born of the blood of the gods, Trojan son of Anchises, easy is the descent to Hell; the door of dark Dis stands open day and night. But to retrace your steps and come out to the air above, that is work, that is labor! - Aeneid, The.
