Author: Henry David Thoreau (85.195.119.---)
Date: 12-05-05 01:15
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No more be griev'd at that which thou hast done:
Roses have thorns, and silver fountains mud:
Clouds and eclipses stain both moon and sun,
And loathsome canker lives in sweetest bud.
All men make faults, and even I in this,
Authorizing thy trespass with compare,
Myself corrupting, salving thy amiss,
Excusing thy sins more than thy sins are;
For to thy sensual fault I bring in sense,--
Thy adverse party is thy advocate,--
And 'gainst myself a lawful plea commence:
Such civil war is in my love and hate,
That I an accessary needs must be,
To that sweet thief which sourly robs from me.
A people free to choose will always choose peace.
Men are what their mothers made them. --Ralph Waldo EmersonMy gaze on Beatrice, hers on Heaven,
In less time than an arrow strikes the mark,
Flies through the air, loosed from its catch, I found
myself in some place where a wondrous thing.
Absorbed all of my mind, and then my lady,
From whom I could not keep my thirst to know,
turned toward me as joyful as her beauty:
Direct your mind and gratitude, she said,
To God, who raised us up to His first star.
-Dante, The Divine Comedy: Paradise