No amount of rationalisation, reform, or Freudian analysis can quite annul the thrill of the chimney-corner whisper or the lonely wood.
If you will be cherished when you are old, be courteous while you be young.
The tongue, the ambassador of the heart.
If all the earth were paper white And all the sea were ink 'Twere not enough for me to write As my poor heart doth think.
Things of greatest profit are set forth with least price. Where the wine is neat there needeth no live blush.
Whilst that the childe is young, let him be instructed in vertue and lytterature.
Thou shalt come out of a warme Sunne into God's blessing.
Years have passed and how I am anxiously watching the twilight of my childhood, quietly sinking, never to rise again.
I suppose it's unfair, tricks of argument that leave wounds, but with this sort of thing that (C. S. ) Lewis does, what I feel is a craftsman's joy at the sight of a superior performance.
I have long been convinced that the idea of liberty is abhorrent to most human beings. What they want is security, not freedom. Thus it seldom causes any public indignation when an enterprising tyrant claps down on one of his enemies. To most men it seems a natural proceeding.
Everyone has a natural right to choose that vocation in life which he thinks most likely gives him comfortable subsistence.