Let her (Truth) and Falsehood grapple; who ever knew Truth put to the worse in a free and open encounter?
I cannot praise a fugitive and cloistered virtue, unexercised and unbreathed, that never sallies out and sees her adversary, but slinks out of the race where that immortal garland is to be run for, not without dust and heat.
Awake, arise or be for ever fall’n.
The work under our labour grows, Luxurious by restraint.
Now I see Peace to corrupt no less than war to waste.
A good book is the precious lifeblood of a master spirit.