Lovers may be - and indeed generally are - enemies, but they never can be friends, because there must always be a spice of jealousy and a something of Self in all their speculations.
Lord Byron
This man is freed from servile bands, Of hope to rise, or fear to fall; Lord of himself, though not of lands, And leaving nothing, yet hath all.
man
What a strange thing man is; and what a stranger thing woman.
The Cincinnatus of the West, Whom envy dared not hate, Bequeath'd the name of Washington, To make man blush there was but one!
Where the virgins are soft as the roses they twine, And all, save the spirit of man, is divine?
The blind old man of Scio's rocky isle.
enemies self
Knowledge is not happiness, and science But an exchange of ignorance for that Which is another kind of ignorance.
happiness science
Whose game was empires and whose stakes were thrones, Whose table earth, whose dice were human bones.
game games
While Franklin's quiet memory climbs to heaven, Calming the lightning which he thence hath riven, Or drawing from the no less kindled earth Freedom and peace to that which boasts his birth; While Washington's a watchword, such as ne'er Shall sink while there's an echo left to air.
birth peace
Though the night was made for loving, And the day returns too soon, Yet we'll go no more a roving By the light of the moon.
light
Friendship may, and often does, grow into love, but love never subsides into friendship.
friendship
Let none think to fly the danger for soon or late love is his own avenger.
danger
Men love in haste, but they detest at leisure.
leisure haste men
Sometimes we are less unhappy in being deceived by those we love, than in being undeceived by them.
Though I love my country, I do not love my countrymen.
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