Religio Medici: Together with a Letter to a Friend on the Death of His Intimate Friend and Christian Morals

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William Pickering, 1845 - 388 pagina's
 

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Pagina 379 - For then we know how vain it was to boast Of fleeting things, so certain to be lost. Clouds of affection from our younger eyes Conceal that emptiness which age descries. The soul's dark cottage, battered and decayed, Lets in new light through chinks that Time has made: Stronger by weakness, wiser men become As they draw near to their eternal home. Leaving the old, both worlds at once they view That stand upon the threshold of the new.
Pagina 183 - I do embrace it; for even that vulgar and tavern music, which makes one man merry, another mad, strikes in me a deep fit of devotion, and a profound contemplation of the first composer.
Pagina 150 - I feel not in myself those common antipathies that I can discover in others: those national repugnances do not touch me, nor do I behold with prejudice the French, Italian, Spaniard, or Dutch...
Pagina 117 - He has not permitted, in his works, any symptom of infancy or of old age, or any sign by which we may estimate either their future or their past duration. He may put an end, as he no doubt gave a beginning, to the present system, at some determinate period...
Pagina 43 - Now nature is not at variance with art, nor art with nature, they being both the servants of his providence. Art is the perfection of nature : were the world now as it was the sixth day, there were yet a Chaos: nature hath made one world, and art another. In brief, all things are artificial, for nature is the art of God.
Pagina 364 - ... burial, and we shall perceive the distance to be very great and very strange. But so have I seen a rose newly springing from the clefts of its hood, and at first it was fair as the morning, and full with the dew of heaven as a lamb's fleece; but when a ruder breath had forced open its virgin modesty, and dismantled its too youthful and unripe retirements, it began to put on darkness, and to decline to softness and the symptoms of a sickly age; it bowed the head, and broke its stalk, and at night,...
Pagina 196 - Sleep is a death, O make me try, By sleeping, what it is to die; And as gently lay my head On my grave, as now my bed.

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