Is then thy knowledge of no value, unless another know that thou possessest that knowledge?
Speak Thou in my words today, think in my thoughts, and work in all my deeds.
Get to live; Then live, and use it; else, it is not true That thou hast gotten. Surely use alone Makes money not a contemptible stone.
Out of my sight! Thou dost infect mine eyes.
O God, the creature knows not to what end Thou hast made Him; teach him, and write in the depths of his soul that the clay must suffer itself to be shaped at the will of the potter.
Thou shalt have one God only: who Would be at the expense of two?
The people who walked in darkness have seen a great light; on those who lived in a land of deep shadow a light has shone. For the yoke that was weighing upon them and the burden upon their shoulders, thou hast broken in pieces O God.
We taste Thee, O Thou Living Bread, And long to feast upon Thee still: We drink of Thee, the Fountainhead And thirst our souls from Thee to fill.
Can we reasonably expect happiness from an insatiable appetite which, no matter how it stuffs its belly, is still psychologically like Oliver Twist in the poorhouse, holding up an empty bowl and begging, "I want some more"? Isn't it possible that our dream of the good society contained, from the beginning, a hidden violation of the Tenth Commandment "Thou shalt not covet thy neighbor's goods"?
Thou lump of foul deformity!
Strike when thou wilt, the hour of rest, but let my last days be my best.
Thou hast nor youth nor age But as it were an after dinner sleep Dreaming of both.
Our little systems have their day; They have their day and cease to be… And thou, O Lord, art more than they.
Whatever charm thou hast, be charming.
Thou shalt not let a day pass without rereading something great.
The worst thing thou has to fear is the treachery of thine own heart.
Since thou wouldst needs, bewitched with some ill charms, Be buried in those monumental arms: As we can wish, is, may that earth lie light Upon thy tender limbs, and so good night.
If there are but few who interest thee, why shouldst thou be disappointed if but few find thee interesting?
That thou art blamed shall not be thy defect, For slander's mark was ever yet the fair; The ornament of beauty is suspect, A crow that flies in heaven's sweetest air.
Thou two-faced year, Mother of Change and Fate. . .