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Renaissance Quotes
| Question | Answer |
|---|---|
| They perfect nature, and are perfected by experience; for natural abilities are like plants, that need pruning by study; and studies themselves do give directions too much at large, except they be bounded in by experience. | Of Studies, Bacon |
| Some books are to be tasted, others to be swallowed, and some few to be chewed and digested; that is, some books are to be read only in parts; others to be read not curiously, and some few to be read wholly, and with diligence and attention. | Of Studies, Bacon |
| Come live with me, and be my love/ And we will all the pleasures prove | The Passionate Shepherd to His Love, Marlowe |
| If these delights thy mind may move/ Then live with me and be my love | The Passionate Shepherd to His Love, Marlowe |
| If all the world and love were young/ And truth in every shepherd's tongue | The Nymph's Reply, Raleigh |
| A honey tongue, a heart of gall,/ Is fancy spring, but sorrow's fall | The Nymph's Reply, Raleigh |
| The these delights my mind might move,/ To live with thee and by thy love | The Nymph's Reply, Raleigh |
| Lady, it is to be presumed,/ Though art's hid causes are not found/ All is not sweet, all is not sound | Still to Be Neat, Jonson |
| Such sweet neglect more taketh me/ Than all th'adulteries of art/ They strike mine eyes, but not my heart | Still to Be Neat, Jonson |
| Drink to me only with thine eyes,/ And I will pledge with mine | Song: to Cecilia, Jonson |
| O, I could lose all father, now. | On My First Son, Jonson |
| For whose sake, henceforth, all his vows be such,/ As what he loves may never like too much | On My First Son, Jonson |
| Stone walls do not a prison make,/ Nor iron bars a cage | To Althea, from Prison, Lovelace |
| True, a new mistress now I chase | To Lucasta, on Going to the Wars, Lovelace |
| I could not love thee, Dear, so much/ Loved I not honor more | To Lucasta , on Going to the Wars, Lovelace |
| Gather ye rosebuds while ye may,/ Old time is still a-flying | To the Virgins, to Make Much of Time, Herrick |
| The glorious lamp of heaven, the sun,/ The higher he's a-getting | To the Virgins, to Make Much of Time, Herrick |
| Come live with me, and be my love/ And we will some new pleasures prove | The Bait, Donne |
| For thee, thou need'st no such deceit/ For thou thyself art thine own bait,/ That fish, that is not catched thereby/ Alas, is wiser, far than I | The Bait, Donne |
| Our two souls, therefore, which are one,/ Though I must go, endure not yet | A Valediction, Donne |
| If they be two, they are two so/ As stiff twin compasses are two;/ Thy soul the fixed foot, makes no show/ To move, but doth, if th'other do. | A Valediction, Donne |
| All mankind is of one author and is one volume; when one man dies, one chapter is not torn out of the book, but translated into a better language; and every chapter must so be translated. | Meditation 17, Donne |
| No man is an island, entire of itself; every man is a piece of the continent, a part of the main. | Meditation 17, Donne |
| Never ask for whom the bell tolls; it tolls for thee | Mediation 17, Donne |
| My vegetable love should grow/ Vaster than empires, and more slow | To His Coy Mistress, Marvell |
| But at my back I always hear/ Time's winged chariot hurrying near | To His Coy Mistress, Marvell |
| Thus, though we cannot make our sun/ Stand still. yet we will make him run | To His Coy Mistress, Marvell |
| Of man's first disobedience, and the fruit/ Of that forbidden tree, whose mortal taste/ Brought death into the world, and all our woe,/ with loss of Eden, till one greater Man/ Restore us, and regain the blissful seat | Paradise Lost, Milton |
| Thus Satan talking to his nearest mate,/ with head uplift above the wave, and eyes/ that sparkling blazed; his other parts besides/ prone on the flood, extending long and large/ lay floating many a rood, in bulk as huge | Paradise Lost, Milton |
| as whom the fables name of monstrous size/ Titanian, or Earthborn, that warred on Jove | Paradise Lost, Milton |
| And sing this day thy victories/ then shall the fall further the flight in me | Easter Wings, Herbert |
| For, if I imp my wing on thine/ Affliction shall advance the flight in me | Easter Wings, Herbert |
| Onely a sweet and vertuous/ Like season'd timber, never gives | Vertue, Herbert |
| Death be not proud, though some have called thee | Holy Sonnet 10, Donne |
| And death shall be no more; death, thou shalt die | Holy Sonnet 10, Donne |