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Populiarios ištraukos

704 psl. - Thus Satan, talking to his nearest mate, With head up-lift above the wave, and eyes That sparkling blazed ; his other parts besides Prone on the flood, extended long and large, Lay floating many a rood...
416 psl. - Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow; they toil not, neither do they spin: And yet I say unto you, That even Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these. Wherefore, if God so clothe the grass of the field, which today is, and tomorrow is cast into the oven, shall he not much more clothe you, O ye of little faith?
705 psl. - Infernal world, and thou profoundest Hell, Receive thy new possessor, one who brings A mind not to be changed by place or time. The mind is its own place, and in itself Can make a Heaven of Hell, a Hell of Heaven.
342 psl. - I see before me the Gladiator lie : He leans upon his hand ; his manly brow Consents to death, but conquers agony, And his drooped head sinks gradually low : And through his side the last drops, ebbing slow From the red gash, fall heavy, one by one, Like the first of a thunder-shower ; and now The arena swims around him ; he is gone, Ere ceased the inhuman shout which hailed the wretch who won.
95 psl. - In the corrupted currents of this world Offence's gilded hand may shove by justice, And oft 'tis seen the wicked prize itself Buys out the law; but 'tis not so above; There is no shuffling, there the action lies In his true nature, and we ourselves compell'd Even to the teeth and forehead of our faults To give in evidence.
726 psl. - Wild is thy lay and loud Far in the downy cloud, Love gives it energy, love gave it birth! Where, on thy dewy wing, Where art thou journeying? Thy lay is in heaven, thy love is on earth.
703 psl. - So he went on, and Apollyon met him. Now the monster was hideous to behold ; he was clothed with scales, like a fish (and they are his pride), he had wings like a dragon, feet like a bear, and out of his belly came fire and smoke, and his mouth was as the mouth of a lion.
524 psl. - My story being done She gave me for my pains a world of sighs: She swore in faith, 'twas strange, 'twas passing strange, Twas pitiful, 'twas wondrous pitiful...
90 psl. - Must I remember? why, she would hang on him, As if increase of appetite had grown By what it fed on; and yet, within a month, Let me not think on't: Frailty, thy name is woman! A little month; or ere those shoes were old With which she follow'd my poor father's body, Like Niobe, all tears; why she, even she, — O God! a beast, that wants discourse of reason, Would have mourn'd longer...
171 psl. - It is better to go to the house of mourning, than to go to the house of feasting: for that is the end of all men; and the living will lay it to his heart.

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