Stung by the splendour of a sudden thought.
No, when the fight begins within himself, / A man's worth something.
Mothers, wives and maids, These be the tools with which priests manage men.
In heaven I yearn for knowledge, account all else inanity; On earth I confess an itch for the praise of fools - that's vanity
Talent should minister to genius.
Still more labyrinthine buds the rose.