Our torments also may in length of time Become our Elements.

... then there was war in heaven. But it was not angels. It was that small golden zeppelin, like a long oval world, high up. It seemed as if the cosmic order were gone, as if there had come a new order, a new heavens above us: and as if the world in anger were trying to revoke it.

And the earth self-balanced on her centre hung.

Tower'd cities please us then, And the busy hum of men.

The leaf was darkish, and had prickles on it, But in another country, as he said, Bore a bright golden flow'r, but not in this soil; Unknown, and like esteem'd, and the dull swain Treads on it daily with his clouted shoon.

He who destroys a good book kills reason itself.

Now I see Peace to corrupt no less than war to waste.