In this, our age of infamy Man's choice is but to be A tyrant, traitor, prisoner: No other choice has he
Always contented with his life, and with his dinner, and his wife.
The illusion which exalts us is dearer to us than ten thousand truths.
Ah! heavy art thou, crown of Monomakh!
And thus He mused: From here, indeed Shall we strike terror in the Swede? And here a city by our labor Founded, shall gall our haughty neighbor; Here cut - so Nature gives command - Your window through on Europe; stand Firm-footed by the sea, unchanging!
Tis time, my friend, 'tis time! For rest the heart is aching; Days follow days in flight, and every day is taking Fragments of being, while together you and I Make plans to live. Look, all is dust, and we shall die.
A man who's active and incisive can yet keep nail-care much in mind: why fight what's known to be decisive? custom is despot of mankind.
Love passed, the Muse appeared, the weather of mind got clarity new-found; now free, I once more weave together emotion, thought, and magic sound.
The less we show our love to a woman, Or please her less, and neglect our duty, The more we trap and ruin her surely In the flattering toils of philandery.
Habit is Heaven's own redress: it takes the place of happiness.
Hermann went out of his mind, and is now confined in room Number 17 of the Obukhov Hospital. He never answers any questions, but he constantly mutters with unusual rapidity: Three, seven, ace! Three, seven, queen!
Sad that our finest aspiration Our freshest dreams and meditations, In swift succession should decay, Like Autumn leaves that rot away.
Upon the brink of the wild stream He stood, and dreamt a mighty dream.
The bread of the stranger is bitter, says Dante, and his staircase hard to climb. But who can know what the bitterness of dependence is so well as the poor companion of an old lady of quality?
Two fixed ideas can no more exist together in the moral world than two bodies can occupy one and the same place in the physical world.