Date: 1706

"Did this state of mind remain always so, every one would, without scruple, give it the name of perfect madness; and whilst it does last, at whatever intervals it returns, such a rotation of thoughts about the same object no more carries us forwards towards the attainment of knowledge, than getti...

— Locke, John (1632-1704)

Date: 1706

"O'er the broad lands, and cross the tide, / On fancy's airy horse I ride, / (Sweet rapture of the mind!) / Till on the banks of Ganges' flood, / In a tall ancient grove I stood / For sacred use design's."

— Watts, Isaac (1674-1748)

Date: 1706

"And therefore wert thou bred to virtuous Knowledge, / And Wisdom early planted in thy Soul; / That thou might'st know to rule thy fiery Passions, / To bind their Rage, and stay their headlong Course."

— Rowe, Nicholas (1674-1718)

Date: 1706

"Our Souls are out of Tune, we languish all, / Nor does the sweet Returning of the Dawn / Chear with its usual Mirth our drowzy Spirits, / That droop'd beneath the lazy leaden Night."

— Rowe, Nicholas (1674-1718)

Date: 1706

"Let ev'ry jarring Sound of Discord cease, / Tune all your Thoughts and Words to Beauty's Praise, / To Beauty, that with sweet and pleasant Influence / Breaks Life the Day-star from the chearful East."

— Rowe, Nicholas (1674-1718)

Date: 1706

"If these known Arts cou'd heal my wounded Soul, / Cou'd recompence the Sorrows of my Days, / Or sooth the Sighings of my lonely Nights; / Well might you hope to woe me to your Wishes, / And win my Heart with your fond Tales of Love."

— Rowe, Nicholas (1674-1718)

Date: 1706

"'tis for this / My Soul takes Fire within, and vainly urges / My cold enervate Hand t'assert thy Cause."

— Rowe, Nicholas (1674-1718)

Date: 1706

"Yes Sir, be certain on't, she shall be try'd; / Thro' all the winding Mazes of her Thoughts."

— Rowe, Nicholas (1674-1718)

Date: 1706

"What God, averse to Innocence and Love, / Cou'd shake thy gentle Soul with such a Storm?"

— Rowe, Nicholas (1674-1718)

Date: 1706

"'Till then be kind, and leave me to my self; / Leave me to vent the Fulness of my Breast, / Pour out the Sorrows of my Soul alone, / And sigh my self, if possible, to Peace."

— Rowe, Nicholas (1674-1718)