Contemplation is wisdom's best nurse.

Aristotle ... imputed this symphony of the heavens ... this music of the spheres to Pythagorus. ... But Pythagoras alone of mortals is said to have heard this harmony ... If our hearts were as pure, as chaste, as snowy as Pythagoras' was, our ears would resound and be filled with that supremely lovely music of the wheeling stars.

So may'st thou live, till like ripe fruit thou drop Into thy mother's lap.

More safe I sing with mortal voice, unchang'd To hoarse or mute, though fall'n on evil days, On evil days though fall'n, and evil tongues.

You can make hell out of heaven and heaven out of hell. It's all in the mind.

Sole reigning holds the tyranny of Heav'n.

The first and wisest of them all professed To know this only, that he nothing knew.