But pain is perfect misery, the worst Of evils, and excessive, overturns All patience.
Praise from an enemy smells of craft.
The brazen throat of war.
In those vernal seasons of the year when the air is calm and pleasant, it were an injury and sullenness against nature not to go out and see her riches, and partake in her rejoicing with heaven and earth.
What is dark within me, illumine.
Beyond is all abyss, eternity, whose end no eye can reach.