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  1. Holidays should always be like this,
    Free from over-emphasis,
    Time for soul to stretch and spit
    Before the world comes back on it.
       Louis MacNeice, Epilogue for W.H. Auden (1936)



  2. She comes like the husht beauty of the night
    And sees too deep for laughter;
    Her touch is a vibration and a light
    From worlds before and after.
       Ernest Markham



  3. Is it not passing brave to be a king,
    And ride in triumph through Persepolis?
       Christopher Marlowe, Tamburlaine, Part I: II, v, 53-54


  4.           the ripest fruit of all,
    That perfect bliss and sole felicity,
    The sweet fruition of an earthly crown.
       Christopher Marlowe, Tamburlaine, Part I: II, vii, 27-29


  5. Blood is the god of war's rich livery."
       Christopher Marlowe, Tamburlaine, Part II: III, ii, 116


  6. Why this is hell, nor am I out of it.
    Think'st thou that I who saw the face of God
    And tasted the eternal joys of heaven
    Am not tormented with ten thousand hells
    In being deprived of everlasting bliss?"
       Christopher Marlowe, Dr. Faustus, Part , I, iii, 76-80


  7. Sweet Helen, make me immortal with a kiss."
       Christopher Marlowe, Dr. Faustus, V, i, 101


  8.           Ah, Faustus,
    Now hast thou but one bare hour to live,
    And then thou must be damned perpetually.
    Stand still, you ever-moving spheres of heaven,
    That time may cease and midnight never come.
    Fair nature's eye, rise, rise again, and make
    Perpetual day; or let this hour be but
    A year, a month, a week, a natural day,
    That Faustus may repent and save his soul.
    O lente, lente currite noctis equi!
    [O slowly, slowly run, horses of night!]
    The stars move still; time runs; the clock will strike;
    The devil will come, and Faustus must be damned.
    O, I'll leap up to my God! Who pulls me down?
    See, see, where Christ's blood streams in the firmament!
    One drop would save my soul, half a drop!"
       Christopher Marlowe, Dr. Faustus, V, ii, 130-144


  9. Was this the face that launched a thousand ships,
    And burned the topless towers of Ilium?
       Christopher Marlowe, Dr. Faustus


  10. It lies not in our power to love or hate,
    For will in us is overrul'd by fate.
       Christopher Marlowe, Hero and Leander,"First Sestiad," 167-168


  11. Who ever lov'd, that lov'd not at first sight?
       Christopher Marlowe, Hero and Leander,"First Sestiad," 176


  12. O none but gods have power their love to hide;
    Affection by the count'nance is descri'd.
    The light of hidden fire itself discovers,
    And love that is conceal'd betrays poor lovers.
       Christopher Marlowe, Hero and Leander,"Second Sestiad," 131-134


  13. Love is too full of faith, too credulous,
    With folly and false hope deluding us.
       Christopher Marlowe, Hero and Leander,"Second Sestiad," 221-222



  14. But at my back I always hear
    Time's winged chariot hurrying near . . . .
       Andrew Marvell, To His Coy Mistress


  15. The grave's a fine and private place,
    But none I think do there embrace.
       Andrew Marvell, To His Coy Mistress


  16. The same Arts that did gain
    A Pow'r must it maintain.
       Andrew Marvell, An Horation Ode Upon Cromwell's Return from Ireland



  17. I must down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky,
    And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by,
    And the wheel's kick and the wind's song and the white sail's shaking,
    And a gray mist on the sea's face and a gray dawn breaking.
       John Masefield, from Sea Fever



  18. Yesterday upon the stair
    I met a man who wasn't there.
    He wasn't there again today
    Oh how I wish he'd go away.
       Hughes Mearns


  19. As I was sitting in my chair,
    I knew the bottom wasn't there,
    Nor legs nor back, but I just sat,
    Ignoring little things like that.
       Hughes Mearns



  20. The warm sea fondled with the shore
    And laid his white face on the sands.
       Joaquin Miller, The Last Taschastas, Part ii



  21. The mind is its own place, and in itself
    Can make a heav'n of hell, a hell of heav'n.
       John Milton, Paradise Lost, Book I


  22. To reign is worth ambition though in hell:
    Better to reign in hell, than serve in heav'n.
       John Milton, Paradise Lost, Book I


  23. For neither man nor angel can discern
    Hypocrisy, the only evil that walks
    Invisible, except to God alone . . . .
       John Milton, Paradise Lost, Book III


  24. Her rash hand in evil hour
    Forth reaching to the fruit, she plucked, she eat:
    Earth felt the wound, and Nature from her seat
    Sighing through all her works gave signs of woe,
    That all was lost.
       John Milton, Paradise Lost, Book IX


  25. She gave him of that fair enticing fruit
    With liberal hand: he scrupled not to eat
    Against his better knowledge, not deceived,
    But fondly overcome with female charm.
       John Milton, Paradise Lost, Book IX


  26. But what is strength without a double share
    Of Wisdom?
       John Milton, Samson Agonistes, 53-54


  27. Love-quarrels oft in pleasing concord end. . . .
       John Milton, Samson Agonistes, 1008


  28. Dame la mano y danzaremos;
    dame la mano y me amarás.
    Como una sola flor seremos,
    como una flor, y nada más…


    Give me your hand and give me your love,
    give me your hand and dance with me.
    A single flower, and nothing more,
    a single flower is all we’ll be.

       Gabriela Mistral, from Dame la Mano / Give Me Your Hand, translated by Ursula K. Le Guinn



  29. Fancy, who hath no present home,
    But builds her bower in scenes to come,
    Walking for ever in a light
    That flows from regions out of sight.
       Thomas Moore, Evenings in Greece, Second Evening


  30. With all my soul, then let us part,
    Since both are anxious to be free;
    And I will send you home your heart,
    If you will send back mine to me!
       Thomas Moore, Juvenile poems, To   *    *   *


  31. Alas! too well, too well they know
    The pain, the penitence, the woe
    That passion brings down on the best,
    The wisest and the loveliest.
       Thomas Moore, Loves of the Angels, Second Angels Story



  32.     There's a joy,
    To the fond votaries of fame unknown,
    To hear the still, small voice of conscience speak
    In whisp'ring plaudit to the silent soul.
       Hannah More, David and Goliath, Pt. I



  33. This hearth was built for thy delight,
    For thee the logs were sawn,
    For thee the largest chair, at night,
    Is to the chimney drawn.


    For thee, dear lass, the match was lit
    To yield the ruddy blaze–
    May Jack Frost give us joy of it
    For many, many days.
       Christopher Morley, from Dedication for a Fireplace



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