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.

Evil, be thou my good.

And to the faithful: death, the gate of life.

Luck is the residue of design.

Yet I shall temper so Justice with mercy, as may illustrate most Them fully satisfy'd, and thee appease.

Must I thus leave thee, Paradise?-thus leave Thee, native soil, these happy walks and shades?

Sweet intercourse of looks and smiles; for smiles from reason flow.