What is sudden death to a protracted life of anguish?
"O heavens! have I then at last found a place which may afford a secret grave for this wretched body? Yes, if the silence of this rocky desert deceive me not, here I may die in peace. Ah, woe is me! Here at least I may freely pour forth my lamentations to Heaven, and shall be less wretched than among men, from whom I should in vain seek counsel, redress, or consolation."
One evil produces another, and misfortunes never come singly.
O memory, thou mortal enemy of my repose! wherefore now recall to me the incomparable beauty of that adored enemy of mine! Were it not better, thou cruel faculty! to represent to my imagination her conduct at that period--that moved by so flagrant an injury, I may strive if not to avenge it, at least to end this life of pain?
For no grievance can hara.s.s or drive the afflicted to such extremity, while life remains, as to make them shut their ears against that counsel which is given with the most humane and benevolent intention.
Music lulls the disordered thoughts, and elevates the dejected spirits.
All women, let them be never so homely, are pleased to hear themselves celebrated for beauty.
The eyes of love or of idleness are like those of a lynx.
One mischance invites another, and the end of one misfortune is often the beginning of a worse.
Among friends we ought not to stand upon trifles.
No man can command the first emotions of his pa.s.sions.
Every new fault deserves a new penance.
Where is the wonder one devil should be like another?
Gifts are good after Easter.
A sparrow in the hand is worth more than a bustard on the wing.
He that will not when he may, when he would he shall have nay.
Men may prove and use their friends, and not presume upon their friendship in things contrary to the decrees of Heaven.
A man dishonored is worse than dead.
"I have heard it preached," quoth Sancho, "that G.o.d is to be loved with this kind of love, for Himself alone, without our being moved to it by hope of reward or fear of punishment; though, for my part, I am inclined to love and serve Him for what He is able to do for me."
"The devil take thee for a b.u.mpkin," said Don Quixote; "thou sayest ever and anon such apt things that one would almost think thee a scholar."
"And yet, by my faith," quoth Sancho, "I cannot so much as read."
Squires and knight-errants are subject to much hunger and ill-luck.
A man on whom Heaven has bestowed a beautiful wife should be as cautious respecting the friends he introduces at home as to her female acquaintance abroad.
If from equal parts we take equal parts, those that remain are equal.
To attempt voluntarily that which must be productive of evil rather than good, is madness and folly. Difficult works are undertaken for the sake of Heaven, or of the world, or both: the first are such as are performed by the saints while they endeavor to live the life of angels in their human frames; such as are performed for love of the world are encountered by those who navigate the boundless ocean, traverse different countries and various climates to acquire what are called the goods of fortune. Those who a.s.sail hazardous enterprises for the sake of both G.o.d and man are brave soldiers, who no sooner perceive in the enemy"s wall a breach made by a single cannon-ball, than, regardless of danger and full of zeal in the defence of their faith, their country, and their king, they rush where death in a thousand shapes awaits them. These are difficulties commonly attempted, and, though perilous, are glorious and profitable.
TEARS OF ST. PETER.
Shame, grief, remorse, in Peter"s breast increase, Soon as the blushing morn his crime betrays; When most unseen, then most himself he sees, And with due horror all his soul surveys.
For a great spirit needs no censuring eyes To wound his soul, when conscious of a fault; But, self-condemn"d, and e"en self-punished, lies, And dreads no witness like upbraiding Thought.
Expect not, therefore, by concealment, to banish sorrow; for, even though you weep not openly, tears of blood will flow from your heart. So wept that simple doctor, who, according to the poet, would venture to make a trial of the cup which the more prudent Rinaldo wisely declined doing; and although this be a poetical fiction, there is a concealed moral in it worthy to be observed and followed.
There is no jewel in the world so valuable as a chaste and virtuous woman. The honor of women consists in the good opinion of the world; and since that of your wife is eminently good, why would you have it questioned? Woman, my friend, is an imperfect creature; and, instead of laying stumbling-blocks in her way, we should clear the path before her, that she may readily attain that virtue which is essential in her. Naturalists inform us that the ermine is a little creature with extremely white fur, and that when the hunters are in pursuit of it, they spread with mire all the pa.s.ses leading to its haunts, to which they then drive it, knowing that it will submit to be taken rather than defile itself. The virtuous and modest woman is an ermine, and her character whiter than snow; and in order to preserve it, a very different method must be taken from that which is used with the ermine.
The reputation of a woman may also be compared to a mirror of crystal, shining and bright, but liable to be sullied by every breath that comes near it. The virtuous woman must be treated like a relic--adored but not handled; she should be guarded and prized, like a fine flower-garden, the beauty and fragrance of which the owner allows others to enjoy only at a distance, and through iron rails.
The devil, when he would entrap a cautious person, a.s.sumes an angel form till he carries his point, when the cloven foot appears.
He who builds on impossibilities should be denied the privilege of any other foundation.
Hope is ever born with love.
Castles should not be left without governors, nor armies without generals.
The pa.s.sion of love is to be conquered by flight alone; it is vain to contend with a power which, though human, requires more than human strength to subdue.
SONNET.
In the dead silence of the peaceful night, When others" cares are hushed in soft repose, The sad account of my neglected woes To conscious Heaven and Chloris I recite.
And when the sun, with his returning light, Forth from the east his radiant journey goes, With accents such as sorrow only knows, My griefs to tell is all my poor delight.
And when bright Phoebus from his starry throne Sends rays direct upon the parched soil, Still in the mournful tale I persevere; Returning night renews my sorrow"s toil; And though from morn to night I weep and moan, Nor Heaven nor Chloris my complainings hear.
Are we to take all that enamored poets sing for truth?
SONNET.
Believe me, nymph, I feel th" impending blow, And glory in the near approach of death; For when thou see"st my corse devoid of breath, My constancy and truth thou sure wilt know, Welcome to me Oblivion"s shade obscure!
Welcome the loss of fortune, life, and fame!
But thy loved features, and thy honored name, Deep graven on my heart, shall still endure.
And these, as sacred relics, will I keep Till that sad moment when to endless night My long-tormented soul shall take her flight Alas for him who on the darkened deep Floats idly, sport of the tempestuous tide, No port to shield him, and no star to guide!
He who gives freely gives twice.
That which is lightly gained is little valued.
For love sometimes flies and sometimes walks--runs with one person, and goes leisurely with another: some he warms, and some he burns; some he wounds, and others he kills: in one and the same instant he forms and accomplishes his projects.
He often in the morning lays siege to a fortress which in the evening surrenders to him--for no force is able to resist him.
Heaven always favors the honest purpose.