Date: 1667; 2nd ed. in 1674
"The animal spirits, that from pure blood arise / Like gentle breaths from rivers pure, thence raise / At least distempered, discontented thoughts, / Vain hopes, vain aims, inordinate desires, / Blown up with high conceits ingendering pride."
preview | full record— Milton, John (1608-1674)
Date: 1667; 2nd ed. in 1674
"Mine eyes he closed, but open left the cell / Of fancy, my internal sight"
preview | full record— Milton, John (1608-1674)
Date: 1667; 2nd ed. in 1674
"So from the root / Springs lighter the green stalk, from thence the leaves / More aerie, last the bright consummate floure / Spirits odorous breathes: flours and thir fruit / Mans nourishment, by gradual scale sublim'd / To vital Spirits aspire, to animal, / To intellectual, give both life and s...
preview | full record— Milton, John (1608-1674)
Date: 1671
"He who reigns within himself and rules his passions, desires, and fears is more than a king is"
preview | full record— Milton, John (1608-1674)
Date: 1671
"But he though blind of sight, / Despis'd and thought extinguish't quite, / With inward eyes illuminated / His fierie vertue rouz'd / From under ashes into sudden flame"
preview | full record— Milton, John (1608-1674)
Date: 1700
"As the form of man is the image of God, so the form of a government is the image of a man"
preview | full record— Harrington, James (1611-1677)
Date: 1700
"The soul of government, as the true and perfect image of the soul of man, is every whit as necessarily religious as rational."
preview | full record— Harrington, James (1611-1677)
Date: w. August 1814
"Fill for me a brimming bowl / *And let me in it drown my soul: */ But put therein some drug, designed */ To Banish Women from my mind."
preview | full record— Keats, John (1795-1821)
Date: w. August 1814
"Yet as the Tuscan mid the snow / Of Lapland thinks on sweet Arno, / Even so for ever shall she be / The Halo of my Memory."
preview | full record— Keats, John (1795-1821)
Date: 1817
"When no fair dreams before my "mind's eye" flit, / And the bare heath of life presents no bloom; / Sweet Hope, ethereal balm upon me shed, / And wave thy silver pinions o'er my head."
preview | full record— Keats, John (1795-1821)