Idleness induces caprice.

Great truths are portions of the soul of man; Great souls are portions of eternity.

Ah, men do not know how much strength is in poise, That he goes the farthest who goes far enough.

The idol is the measure of the worshipper.

From lower to the higher next, Not to the top, is Nature's text; And embryo Good, to reach full stature, Absorbs the Evil in its nature.

And what is so rare as a day in June? Then, if ever, come perfect days.

Truth only needs to be for once spoken out; and there's such music in her, such strange rhythm, as makes men's memories her joyous slaves.