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Although reason were intended by Providence to govern our passions; yet it seems that in two points of the greatest moment to the being and continuance of the world, God has intended our passions to prevail over reason. The first is, the propagation of our species; since no wise man ever married from the dictates of reason. The other is, the love of life; which, from the dictates of reason, every man would despise, and wish it at an end, or that it never had a beginning.

Jonathan Swift (1667-1745) English writer and churchman
“Thoughts on Religion” (1726)
    (Source)
 
Added on 13-Mar-23 | Last updated 13-Mar-23
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More quotes by Swift, Jonathan

Do the gods light this fire in our hearts
or does each man’s mad desire become his god?

[Dine hunc ardorem mentibus addunt,
Euryale, an sua cuique deus fit dira cupido?]

Virgil (70-19 BC) Roman poet [b. Publius Vergilius Maro; also Vergil]
The Aeneid [Ænē̆is], Book 9, l. 184ff (9.184-185) [Nisus] (29-19 BC) [tr. Fagles (2006)]
    (Source)

(Source (Latin)). Alternate translations:

          Or do the gods inspire
This warmth, or make we gods of our desire?
[tr. Dryden (1697)]

Do the gods, Euryalus, infuse this ardour into our minds? or is each one's earnest inclination his god?
[tr. Davidson/Buckley (1854)]

"Can it be Heaven" said Nisus then
"That lends such warmth to hearts of men,
Or passion surging past control
That plays the god to each one's soul?"
[tr. Conington (1866)]

Is it the gods who give
This ardor to our minds, Euryalus?
And must our strong desires be deemed divine?
[tr. Cranch (1872), l. 230ff]

Lend the gods this fervour to the soul, Euryalus? or does fatal passion become a proper god to each?
[tr. Mackail (1885)]

Doth very God so set the heart on fire,
Euryalus, or doth each man make God of his desire?
[tr. Morris (1900)]

Is it that the Gods inspire,
Euryalus, this fever of the breast?
[tr. Taylor (1907), st. 24, l. 208ff]

Is it gods above that breathe
this fever in my soul, Euryalus?
or is the tyrant passion of each breast
the god it serves?
[tr. Williams (1910)]

Do the gods, Euryalus, put this fire in our hearts, or does his own wild longing become to each man a god?
[tr. Fairclough (1918)]

          Euryalus, what is it?
Do the gods put this ardor in our hearts
Or does each man’s desire become his god?
[tr. Humphries (1951)]

Is it God that makes one burn to do brave things,
Or does each of us make a god of his own fierce passion to do them?
[tr. Day-Lewis (1952)]

          Euryalus, is it
the gods who put this fire in our minds,
or is it that each man's relentless longing
becomes a god to him?
[tr. Mandelbaum (1971), l. 243ff]

This urge to action, do the gods instill it,
Or is each man's desire a god to him,
Euryalus?
[tr. Fitzgerald (1981), l. 252ff]

Is it the gods who put this ardour into our minds, or does every man's irresistible desire become his god?
[tr. West (1990)]

Euryalus, do the gods set this fire in our hearts,
or does each man’s fatal desire become godlike to him?
[tr. Kline (2002)]

          Do the gods
Put this fire in our hearts, Euryalus,
Or do our passions become our gods?
[tr. Lombardo (2005)]

Do gods enflame our hearts, Euryalus,
or do our fierce desires become our gods?
[tr. Bartsch (2021)]

 
Added on 18-Jan-23 | Last updated 18-Jan-23
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More quotes by Virgil

I was in love, and love makes all men frantic.

[ἤρων τὸ μαίνεσθαι δ᾽ ἄρ᾽ ἦν ἔρως βροτοῖς.]

Euripides (485?-406? BC) Greek tragic dramatist
Antigone [Ἀντιγόνη], frag. 161 (TGF, Kannicht) [Haemon?] (c. 420-406 BC) [tr. Wodhall (1809)]
    (Source)

Barnes frag. 18, Musgrave frag. 7. (Source (Greek)). Alternate translation:

I was in love; and love, it turns out, is madness for mortals.
[tr. Karamanou]

I was [they were?] in love: and that showed that love is madness for mortals.
[tr. Valtadorou (2020)]

 
Added on 4-Jan-23 | Last updated 5-Jan-23
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More quotes by Euripides

One day together, for pastime, we read
     Of Lancelot, and how Love held him in thrall.
     We were alone, and without any dread.
Gustave Dore - Francesca and PaoloSometimes our eyes, at the word’s secret call,
     Met, and our cheeks a changing color wore.
     But it was one page only that did all.
When we read how that smile, so thirsted for,
     Was kissed by such a lover, he that may
     Never from me be separated more
All trembling kissed my mouth. The book I say
     Was a Galahalt to us, and he beside
     that wrote that book. We read no more that day.

[Noi leggiavamo un giorno per diletto
     di Lancialotto come amor lo strinse;
     soli eravamo e sanza alcun sospetto.
Per più fïate li occhi ci sospinse
     quella lettura, e scolorocci il viso;
     ma solo un punto fu quel che ci vinse.
Quando leggemmo il disïato riso
     esser basciato da cotanto amante,
     questi, che mai da me non fia diviso,
la bocca mi basciò tutto tremante.
     Galeotto fu ‘l libro e chi lo scrisse:
     quel giorno più non vi leggemmo avante.]

Dante Alighieri the poet
Dante Alighieri (1265-1321) Italian poet
The Divine Comedy [Divina Commedia], Book 1 “Inferno,” Canto 5, l. 127ff (5.127-138) [Francesca] (1320) [tr. Binyon (1943)]
    (Source)

In the Old French romance of Lancelot du Lac they were reading, Sir Gallehault (spelled variously) serves as go-between for Lancelot and Guinevere (a couple not able to express their love because of her marriage to King Arthur), and ultimately persuades the Queen to give Lancelot a first, dooming kiss. Similarly, Paolo was the intermediary to arrange the marriage of his brother, Gianciotto, and Francesca. After the marriage, reading together that racy tale of Lancelot seduced Paolo and Francesca into pursuing their carnal affair. The Italian form of Gallehault -- "Galeotto" or "Galleot" -- became Middle Ages Italian slang for a panderer or pimp, and Francesca draws on this meaning in her chat with the Pilgrim, blaming the book and its writer for her damning sins with Paolo. See also, earlier, here.

(Source (Italian)). Alternate translations:

Together we, for pleasure, one day read
How strictly Lancelot was bound by love;
We, then alone, without suspicion were:
T'admire each other, often from the book
Our eyes were ta'en, and oft our colour chang'd;
That was the point of time which conqurer'd us,
When, reading that her captivating smile
Was by the Lover the adored kiss'd;
This, my Companion, always with me seen,
Fearful, and trembling, also kiss'd my mouth.
The Writer, Galeotto, nam;d the Book.
But from that day we never read in't more.
[tr. Rogers (1782), l. 113ff]

One day (a day I ever must deplore!)
The gentle youth, to spend a vacant hour,
To me the soft seducing story read,
Of Launcelot and fair Geneura's love,
While fascinating all the quiet grove
Fallacious Peace her snares around us spread.
Too much I found th' insidious volume charm,
And Paulo's mantling blushes rising warm;
Still as he read the guilty secret told:
Soon from the line his eyes began to stray;
Soon did my yielding looks my heart betray,
Nor needed words our wishes to unfold.
Eager to realize the story'd bless,
Trembling he snatch'd the half resented kiss,
To ill soon lesson'd by the pandar-page!
Vile pandar-page! it smooth'd the paths of shame.
[tr. Boyd (1802), st. 24-26]

     One day
For our delight we read of Lancelot,
     How him love thrall’d. Alone we were, and no
     Suspicion near us. Ofttimes by that reading
Our eyes were drawn together, and the hue
     Fled from our alter’d cheek. But at one point
     Alone we fell. When of that smile we read,
The wished smile, rapturously kiss’d
     By one so deep in love, then he, who ne’er
     From me shall separate, at once my lips
All trembling kiss’d. The book and writer both
     Were love’s purveyors. In its leaves that day
     We read no more.
[tr. Cary (1814)]

'Twas on a day when we for pastime read
     Of Lancelot, whom love ensnared to ruin:
     We were alone, nor knew suspicious dread.
That lesson oft, the conscious look renewing,
     Held us suspense, and turned our cheeks to white;
     But one sole moment wrought for our undoing:
When of the kiss we read, from smile so bright.
     So coveted, that such true-lover bore.
     He, from my side who ne'er may disunite,
Kissed me upon the mouth, trembling all o'er.
     The broker of our Vows, it was the lay,
     And he who wrote -- that day we read no more.
[tr. Dayman (1843)]

     One day, for pastime, wwe read of Lancelot, how love restrained him; we were alone, and without all suspicion.
     Several times that reading urged our eyes to meet, and changed the color of our faces; but one moment alone it was that overcame us.
     When we read how the fond smile was kissed by such a lover, he, who shall never be divided from me,
     kissed my mouth all trembling: the book, and he who wrote it, was a Galeotto; that day we read in it no farther.
[tr. Carlyle (1849)]

We were reading one day, for our delight,
In Lancilotto, bound in love so strict.
We were alone, and neither could suspect
Suspended were our eyes, and more than once,
In reading, and the visage colorless;
One point it was lone that conquered us.
When we read first of that -- the longed-for smile
At being kissed by one who loved so well;
Galeotti was the book -- he wrote it:
That Day we read not there any farther.
[tr. Bannerman (1850)]

One day we read, to pass a pleasant time,
     How Lancelot was bound in chains of love;
     Alone we were and no suspicion knew.
often we sigh'd; and as we read our eyes
     Each other sought, the color fled our cheeks;
     But we were vanquish'd by one point alone.
When we had read how the smile long desir'd
     Was kiss'd by him who lov'd with such deep love,
     This one, from me no more to be apart,
Trembling all over, kiss'd me on the mouth.
     Galeotto was the writer and the book;
     In it we read no further on that day.
[tr. Johnston (1867)]

One day we reading were for our delight
     ⁠Of Launcelot, how Love did him enthrall.
     ⁠Alone we were and without any fear.
Full many a time our eyes together drew
     ⁠That reading, and drove the color from our faces;
     ⁠But one point only was it that o'ercame us.
Whenas we read of the much longed-for smile
     ⁠Being by such a noble lover kissed,
     ⁠This one, who ne'er from me shall be divided,
Kissed me upon the mouth all palpitating.
     ⁠Galeotto was the book and he who wrote it.
     ⁠That day no farther did we read therein.
[tr. Longfellow (1867)]

We were reading one day, for delight, of Lancelot, how Love constrained him; alone were we, and without any suspicion. Many times did that reading impel our eyes, and change the hue of our visages; but one point only was it that overcame us. When we read that the wished-for smile was kissed by such a lover, this one who never from me shall be parted kissed me on the mouth all trembling. A Gallehault was the book, and he who wrote it. That day we read no further in it.
[tr. Butler (1885)]

We read one day for pleasure, in the song
     Of Launcelot, how Love him captive made;
     We were alone without one thought of wrong.
Many and many a time our eyes delayed
     The reading, and our faces paled apart;
     One point alone it was that us betrayed.
In reading of that worshipt smile o' the heart,
     Kissed by such lover on her lips' red core.
     This one, who never more from me must part,
Kissed me upon the mouth, trembling all o'er:
     For us our Galeotto was that book;
     That day we did not read it any more.
[tr. Minchin (1885)]

We were reading one day, for delight, of Lancelot, how love constrained him. We were alone and without any suspicion. Many times that reading made us lift our eyes, and took the color from our faces, but only one point was that which overcame us. When we read of the longed-for smile being kissed by such a lover, this one, who never from me shall be divided, kissed my mouth all trembling. Galahaut was the book, and he who wrote it. That day we read in it no farther.
[tr. Norton (1892)]

We read one day, to while the hour, of Lancelot, how love enthralled him: we were alone, with never a thought of harm. And oft and oft that reading brought our eyes together and drave the colour to our cheeks ; but one point, only one, it was that overcame us. When that we came to read of how the smiling lips he loved were kissed by lover such as he, he that no more shall e'er be parted from me, kissed my mouth trembling through. Our Galahad was the book and he that penned it: that day we read in it no more.
[tr. Sullivan (1893)]

One day, by way of pastime, we were reading
     Of Lancelot, how love in fetters held him:
     We were alone, and without thought of danger.
Full often did that reading bring together
     Our glances, and made colourless our visage;
     But just one point was that which overcame us:
When as we read how that the smile much longed for
     Was kissed by one so passionately loving,
     He who from me shall never be divided
Kissed me upon the mouth, all, all a-quiver: --
     A Galehalt was the book and he who wrote it: --
     Upon that day we read therein no further.
[tr. Griffith (1908)]

We read one day for pastime of Lancelot, how love constrained him. We were alone and had no misgiving. Many times that reading drew our eyes together and changed the color in our faces, but one point alone it was that mastered us; when we read that the longed-fro smile was kissed by so great a lover, he who never shall be parted from me, all trembling, kissed my mouth. A Galeotto was the book and he that wrote it; that day we read in it no farther.
[tr. Sinclair (1939)]

One day we read for pastime how in thrall
     Lord Lancelot lay to love, who loved the Queen;
     We were alone -- we thought no harm at all.
As we read on, our eyes met now and then,
     And to our cheeks the changing color started,
     But just one moment overcame us -- when
We read of the smile, desired of lips long-thwarted,
     Such smile, by such a lover kissed away,
     He that may never more from me be parted
Trembling all over, kissed my mouth. I say
     The book was Galleot, Galleot the complying
     Ribald who wrote; we read no more that day.
[tr. Sayers (1949)]

One day for dalliance we read the rhyme
     of Lancelot, how love had mastered him.
     We were alone with innocence and dim time.
Pause after pause that high old story drew
     our eyes together while we blushed and paled;
     but it was one soft passage overthrew
our caution and our hearts. For when we read
     how her fond smile was kissed by such a lover,
     he who is one with me alive and dead
breathed on my lips the tremor of his kiss.
     That book, and he who wrote it, was a pander.
     That day we read no further.
[tr. Ciardi (1954), l. 124ff]

One day, for pastime, we reqd of Lancelot, how love constrained him; we were alone, suspecting nothing. Several times that reading urged our eyes to meet and too the color from our faces, but one moment alone it was that overcame us. When we read how the longed-for smile was kissed by so great a lover, this one, who never shll be parted from me, kissed my mouth all trembling. A Gallehault was the book and he who wrote it; that day we read no farther in it.
[tr. Singleton (1970)]

One day we read, to pass the time away,
     of Lancelot, how he had fallen in love;
     we were alone, innocent of suspicion.
Time and again our eyes were brought together
     by the book we read; our faces flushed and paled.
     To the moment of one line alone we yielded:
it was when we read about those longed-for lips
     now being kissed by such a famous lover,
     that this one (who shall never leave my side)
then kissed my mouth, and trembled as he did.
     The book and its author was our galehot!
     That day we read no further.
[tr. Musa (1971)]

One day, to pass the time away, we read
     of Lancelot -- how love had overcome him.
     We were alone, and we suspected nothing.
And time and time again that reading led
     our eyes to meet, and made our faces pale,
     and yet one point alone defeated us.
When we had read how the desired smile
     was kissed by one who was so true a lover,
     this one, who never shall be parted from me,
while all his body trembled, kissed my mouth.
     A Gallehault indeed, that book and he
     who wrote it, too; that day we read no more.
[tr. Mandelbaum (1980)]

One day, when we were reading, for distraction,
     How Lancelot was overcome by love --
     We were alone, without any suspicion;
Several times, what we were reading forced
     Our eyes to meet, and then we changed color:
     But one page only was more than we could bear.
When we read how that smile, so much desired,
     Was kissed by such a lover, in the book,
     He, who will never be divided from me,
Kissed my mouth, he was trembling as he did so;
     The book, the writer played the part of Galahalt:
     That day we got no further with our reading.
[tr. Sisson (1981)]

One day, for pleasure,
We read of Lancelot, by love constrained:
Alone, suspecting nothing, at our leisure.
Sometimes at what we read our glances joined,
Looking from the book each to the other's eyes,
And then the color in our faces drained.
But one particular moment alone it was
Defeated us: the longed-for smile, it said,
Was kissed by that most noble lover: at this,
This one, who now will never leave my side,
Kissed my mouth, trembling. A Galeotto, that book!
And so was he who wrote it; that day we read
No further.
[tr. Pinsky (1994), l. 112ff]

     We were reading one day, for pleasure, of Lancelot, how Love beset him; we were alone and without any suspicion.
     Many times that reading drove our eyes together and turned our faces pale; but one point alone was the one that overpowered us.
     When we read that the yearned-for smile was kissed by so great a lover, he, who will never be separated from me,
     kissed my mouth all trembling. Galeotto was the book and he who wrote it: that day we read there no further.
[tr. Durling (1996)]

We read, one day, to our delight, of Lancelot and how love constrained him: we were alone and without suspicion. Often those words urged our eyes to meet, and coloured our cheeks, but it was a single moment that undid us. When we read how that lover kissed the beloved smile, he who will never be separated from me, kissed my mouth all trembling. That book was a Galeotto, a pandar, and he who wrote it: that day we read no more.
[tr. Kline (2002)]

One day we read together for pure joy
     how Lancelot was taken in Love's palm.
     We were alone. We knew no suspicion.
Time after time, the words we read would lift
     our eyes and drawn all color from our faces.
     A single point, however, vanquished us.
For when at last we read the longed-for smile
     of Guinevere -- at last her lover kissed --
     he, who from me will never now depart,
touched his kiss, trembling to my open mouth.
     This book was Galehault -- pander-penned, the pimp!
     That day we read no further down those lines.
[tr. Kirkpatrick (2006)]

One day, to pass the time in pleasure,
     we read of Lancelot, how love enthralled him.
     We were alone, without the least misgiving.
More than once that reading made our eyes meet
     and drained the color from our faces.
     Still, it was a single instant overcame us:
When we read how the longed-for smile
     was kissed by so renowned a lover, this man,
     who never shall be parted from me,
all trembling, kissed me on my mouth.
     A Galeotto was the book and he that wrote it.
     That day we read in it no further.
[tr. Hollander/Hollander (2007)]

One day we read the story of Lancelot
     And how his love attacked and held him tight.
     We were alone and unaware of our thoughts.
More than once the story forced our eyes
     To meet, and as we looked our faces turned pale,
     But just one single moment hung and decided
Us. We read how a smile we longed for stayed
     On her lips until the greatest of lovers kissed them,
     And then this man, who cannot be taken away
From me, kissed my mouth, his body trembling.
     A famous go-between had written that tale.
     That day, our time for reading suddenly ended.
[tr. Raffel (2010)]

Reading together one day for delight
Or Lancelot, caught up in Love's sweet snare,
We were alone, with no thought of what might
Occur to us, although we stopped to stare
Sometimes at what we read, and even paled.
But then the moment came we turned a page
And all our powers of resistance failed:
When we read of that great knight in a rage
To kiss the smile he so desired. Paolo,
This one so quiet now, made my mouth still --
Which, loosened by those words, had trembled so --
With his mouth. And right then we lost the will --
For Love can will will's loss, as well you know --
To read on. But let that man take a bow
Who wrote the book we called our Galahad,
The reason nothing can divide us now.
[tr. James (2013), l. 149ff]

 
Added on 31-Dec-22 | Last updated 31-Dec-22
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More quotes by Dante Alighieri

gustave doré - dante alighieri - inferno plate 14 (canto v - the hurricane of souls)

And this, I learned, was the never ending flight
     of those who sinned in the flesh, the carnal and lusty
     who betrayed reason to their appetite.
As the wings of wintering starlings bear them on
     in their great wheeling flights, just so the blast
     wherries these evil souls through time foregone.
Here, there, up, down, they whirl, and whirling, strain
     with never a hope of hope to comfort them,
     not of release, but even of less pain.

[Intesi ch’a così fatto tormento
     enno dannati i peccator carnali,
     che la ragion sommettono al talento.
E come li stornei ne portan l’ali
     nel freddo tempo, a schiera larga e piena,
     così quel fiato li spiriti mali
di qua, di là, di giù, di sù li mena;
     nulla speranza li conforta mai,
     non che di posa, ma di minor pena.]

Dante Alighieri the poet
Dante Alighieri (1265-1321) Italian poet
The Divine Comedy [Divina Commedia], Book 1 “Inferno,” Canto 5, l. 37ff (5.37-45) (1320) [tr. Ciardi (1954)]
    (Source)

Illustration by Gustave Doré. (Source (Italian)). Alternate translations:

Those who such torments suffered, I learnt,
     Were condemn'd to them for their carnal Sins,
     Their reason by their Passion being subdued.
And as the Birds, who at the first approach
     Of cold, take wing, and gather in thick clouds,
     So does the Storm these wretched Spirits drive,
From 'bove, below, and ev'ry side around.
     They have no hope of ever being releas'd:
     And e'en of lighter punishments despair.
[tr. Rogers (1782), l. 32ff]

These were the hapless slaves of lawless love,
Soft pleasure's vot'ries in the world above,
Who the still voice of reason held in scorn;
And as a flight of starlings wing their way,
Riding the wintry blast in long array,
     The phantoms fleet, in airy tumult borne.
Aloft we saw the moody revel ride,
Then, in long eddies, like the swallowing tide,
With its full freight the hurricane descends:
Around the sinner sweep, above, below,
Nor respite of their cares rest they, nor refuge know
     From the resistless storm that never ends.
[tr. Boyd (1802), st. 8-9]

I understood that to this torment sad
     The carnal sinners are condemn'd, in whom
     Reason by lust is sway'd. As in large troops
And multitudinous, when winter reigns,
     The starlings on their wings are borne abroad;
     So bears the tyrannous gust those evil souls.
On this side and on that, above, below,
     It drives them: hope of rest to solace them
     Is none, nor e'en of milder pang.
[tr. Cary (1814)]

Then understood I of that woe's intent,
     How framed with sinners in the flesh to deal
     Who to their passion have their reason bent.
And like as starlings in their aery wheel
     Some winter's day float wide upon the wing.
     So doth those guilty souls the whirlwind's reel
Now up, now down, now this, now that way fling;
     Nor aught to comfort them may soothing hope.
     If not of rest, of milder sufferance bring.
[tr. Dayman (1843)]

     I learnt that to such torment [are] doomed the carnal sinners, who subject reason to lust.
     And as their wings bear along the starlings, at the cold season, in large and crowded troop: so that blast, the evil spirits;
     hither, thither, down, up, it leads them. No hope ever comforts them, not of rest, but even of less pain.
[tr. Carlyle (1849)]

Of torment such as this, I understood,
     Were carnal sinners made to drink their fill,
     Their reason who subject unto their will.
And as the starlings spread their wings aloft
     In the cold time, in long and crowded flock,
     Such are the evil spirits to the shock:
From here to there, from low to high, it leads;
     Nor hope nor comfort in their breast remain,
     Not of a pause, but even of lesser pain.
[tr. Bannerman (1850)]

Then I perceiv'd this torment was to those
     Whose condemnation was for carnal sins,
     Who made their reason subject to their lusts.
As starlings in their wingèd strength are borne
     In winter season, flocking wide and deep;
     So are the wicked spirits by this blast
Upwards and downwards, hither, thither swept,
     Having to comfort them of no hope of rest
     From their great woe, nor e'en of lesser pain.
[tr. Johnston (1867)]

I understood that unto such a torment
     The carnal malefactors were condemned,
     Who reason subjugate to appetite.
And as the wings of starlings bear them on
     In the cold season in large band and full,
     So doth that blast the spirits maledict;
It hither, thither, downward, upward, drives them;
     No hope doth comfort them forevermore,
     Not of repose, but even of lesser pain.
[tr. Longfellow (1867)]

I was aware that to a torment thus fashioned are condemned the carnal sinners who made their reason subject to their inclination. And as their wings bear away the starlings in the cold season, in a broad and thick flock, so did that blast the evil spirits. On this side, on that, up and down it sways them; no hope ever comforts them, I say not of rest, but of a lesser penalty.
[tr. Butler (1885)]

Then did I understand that this was pain
     Reserved for those who sin in carnal things,
     And over reason their desires maintain.
And, like the summer starlings, stretch their wings
     In the cold time, in large and ample train,
     So that wild wind those evil spirits swings
Hither and thither, up and down again;
     No hope can comfort them of far repose
     For evermore, nor even of lesser pain.
[tr. Minchin (1885)]

I understood that to such torment are condemned the carnal sinners who subject reason to appetite. And as their wings bear along the starlings in the cold season in a troop large and full, so that blast the evil spirits; hither, thither, down, up it carries them; no hope ever comforts them, not of repose, but even of less pain.
[tr. Norton (1892)]

I came to know that to tortures of such a kind were doomed sinners in the flesh, who make their better judg- ment the thrall of lust. And as in winter time starlings are borne on their wings, in large and crowded flock; even so beareth this blast these sinful spirits. Hither and thither, high and low, it whirleth them, nor ever cometh hope of any rest to cheer them, nor even of lesser punishment.
[tr. Sullivan (1893)]

I understood that unto such like torment
     Are damned eternally the carnal sinners.
     Who make their reason subject to their passions.
And as their pinions bear along the starlings,
     In the chill time, in wide and full battahon,
     In such wise doth that blast the wicked spirits:
Hither and thither, up and down, it bears them;
     Nor any hope encourages them ever.
     Not to say hope of rest, but of less torment.
[tr. Griffith (1908)]

I learned that to such torment are condemned the carnal sinners who subject reason to desire. As in the cold season their wings bear the starlings along in a broad, dense flock, so does that blast the wicked spirits. Hither, thither, downward, upward, it drives them; no hope ever comforts them, not to say of rest, but of less pain.
[tr. Sinclair (1939)]

I learnt that in such restless violence blown
     This punishment the carnal sinners share
     Whose reason by desire was over thrown.
And as their beating wings the starlings bear
     At the cold season, in broad, flocking flight,
     So those corrupted spirits were rapt in air
To and fro, down, up, driven in helpless plight
     Comforted by no hope ever to lie
     At rest, nor even to bear a pain more light.
[tr. Binyon (1943)]

Into this torment carnal sinners are thrust,
     So I was told -- the sinners who make their reason
     Bond thrall under the yoke of their lust.
Like as the starlings wheel in the wintry season
     In wide and clustering flocks wing-borne, wind-borne,
     Even so they go, the souls who did this treason,
Hither and thither, and up and down, outworn,
     Hopeless of any rest -- rest, did I say?
     Of the least minishing of their pangs forlorn.
[tr. Sayers (1949)]

     I learned that to such torment are condemned the carnal sinners, who subject reason to desire.
     And as their wings bear the starlings along in the cold season, in wide, dense flocks, so does that blast the sinful spirits; hither, thither, downward, upward, it drives them. No hope of less pain, not to say of rest, ever comforts them.
[tr. Singleton (1970)]

I learned that to this place of punishment
     all those who sin in lust have been condemned,
     those who make reason slave to appetite;
and as the wings of starlings in the winter
     bear them along in wide-spread crowded flocks,
     so does that wind propel the evil spirits:
here, then there, and up and down, it sweeps them
     forever, without hope to comfort them
     (hope, not of taking rest, but of suffering less).
[tr. Musa (1971)]

I learned that those who undergo this torment
     are damned because they sinned within the flesh,
     subjecting reason to the rule of lust.
And as, in the cold season, starlings' wings
     bear them along in broad and crowded ranks,
     so does that blast bear on the guilty spirits:
now here, now there, now down, now up, it drives them.
     There is no hope that ever comforts them --
     no hope for rest and none for lesser pain.
[tr. Mandelbaum (1980)]

I understood it is to this torment
     That are condemned those who sin in the flesh,
     And let their reason give way to their wishes.
And, as starlings are carried on their wings
     In the cold weather, in a vast wavering troop,
     So that breath carries the unfortunate spirits:
It drives them here and there, now down, now up;
     There is no hope ever to comfort them;
     They cannot stop, or ever suffer less pain.
[tr. Sisson (1981)]

          I learned
     They suffer here who sinned in carnal things --
     Their reason mastered by desire, suborned.
As winter starlings ride on their wings
     Form crowded flocks, so spirits dip and veer
     Foundering in the wind's rough buffetings,
Upward or downward, driven here and there
     With never ease from pain nor hope of rest.
[tr. Pinsky (1994), l. 34ff]

     I understood that to this torment were damned the carnal sinners, who subject their reason to their lust.
     nd as their wings carry off the starlings in the cold season, in large, full flocks, so does that breath carry the evil spirits
     here, there, down, up; no hope ever comforts them, not of lessened suffering, much less of rest.
[tr. Durling (1996)]

     I learnt that the carnal sinners are condemned to these torments, they who subject their reason to their lust.
     And, as their wings carry the starlings, in a vast, crowded flock, in the cold season, so that wind carries the wicked spirits, and leads them here and there, and up and down. No hope of rest, or even lesser torment, comforts them.
[tr. Kline (2002)]

Caught in this torment, as I understood,
     were those who -- here condemned for carnal sin --
     made reason bow to their instinctual bent.
As starlings on the wing in winter chills
     are borne along in wide and teeming flocks,
     so on these breathing gusts the evil souls.
This way and that and up and down they're borne.
     Here is no hope of any comfort ever,
     neither of respite nor of lesser pain.
[tr. Kirkpatrick (2006)]

I understood that to such torment
     the carnal sinners are condemned,
     they who make reason subject to desire.
As, in cold weather, the wings of starlings
     bear them up in wide, dense flocks,
     so does that blast propel the wicked spirits.
Here and there, down and up, it drives them.
     Never are they comforted by hope
     of rest or even lesser punishment.
[tr. Hollander/Hollander (2007)]

I learned that sinners blown, tormented in bursting
     Gales, are those condemned by acts of lust,
     Which melt our reason down in desire and thirst.
Just as their wings, stretched wide, hold starlings up
     In great, wide flocks fleeing freezing weather,
     So those windstorms force the wicked souls
This way, that way, down and up together.
     No hope can ever ease their pain, giver comfort;
     They never rest, never suffer less.
[tr. Raffel (2010)]

     I understood this was the punishment
For carnal sinners, who let appetite
Rule reason, and who, once drawn, are now sent --
Like winter starlings by their wings in flight --
Across the bleak sky in a broad, thick flock:
Here, there, now up, now down, the winds dictate
Their track. Small hope of pausing to take stock
Of whether anguish might not soon abate
At least a little, and no hope at all
Of peace.
[tr. James (2013), l. 47ff]

 
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More quotes by Dante Alighieri

Death is an endless night so awful to contemplate that it can make us love life and value it with such passion that it may be the ultimate cause of all joy and all art.

Paul Theroux
Paul Theroux (b. 1941) American novelist and travel writer
“D is for Death,” Hockney’s Alphabet (1991) [ed. Stephen Spender]
    (Source)
 
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Love, you tyrant!
To what extremes won’t you compel our hearts?

[Improbe Amor, quid non mortalia pectora cogis!]

Virgil (70-19 BC) Roman poet [b. Publius Vergilius Maro; also Vergil]
The Aeneid [Ænē̆is], Book 4, l. 412 (4.412) (29-19 BC) [tr. Fagles (2006), ll. 518-19]
    (Source)

(Source (Latin)). Alternate translations:

All-pow'rful Love! what changes canst thou cause
In human hearts, subjected to thy laws!
[tr. Dryden (1697)]

Unrelenting love, how irresistible is they sway over the minds of mortals!
[tr. Davidson/Buckley (1854)]

Curst love! what lengths of tyrant scorn
Wreak'st not on those of woman born?
[tr. Conington (1866)]

Accursèd power of love, what mortal hearts
Dost thou not force to obey thee!
[tr. Cranch (1872), ll. 544-45]

Injurious Love, to what dost thou not compel mortal hearts!
[tr. Mackail (1885)]

O evil Love, where wilt thou not drive on a mortal breast?
[tr. Morris (1900)]

O tyrant love, so potent to subdue!
[tr. Taylor (1907), st. 53, l. 473]

Relentless Love,
to what mad courses may not mortal hearts
by thee be driven?
[tr. Williams (1910), l. 409ff]

O tyrant Love, to what dost thou not drive the hearts of men!
[tr. Fairclough (1916)]

There is nothing to which the hearts of men and women
Cannot be driven by love.
[tr. Humphries (1951)]

Excess of love, to what lengths you drive our human hearts!
[tr. Day Lewis (1952)]

Voracious Love, to what do you not drive
the hearts of men?
[tr. Mandelbaum (1971), ll. 566-67]

Unconscionable Love,
To what extremes will you not drive our hearts!
[tr. Fitzgerald (1981), ll. 571-72]

Love is a cruel master. There are no lengths to which it does not force the human heart.
[tr. West (1990)]

Cruel Love, what do you not force human hearts to bear?
[tr. Lombardo (2005)]

Cursed love, you make us stoop to anything.
[tr. Bartsch (2021)]

 
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It is the show and seal of nature’s truth,
Where love’s strong passion is impress’d in youth:
By our remembrances of days foregone,
Such were our faults; — or then we thought them none.

William Shakespeare (1564-1616) English dramatist and poet
All’s Well That Ends Well, Act 2, sc. 3, l. 134ff [Countess] (1602?)
    (Source)
 
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But, oh, how little they know, the omniscient seers.
What good are prayers and shrines to a person mad with love?
The flame keeps gnawing into her tender marrow hour by hour
and deep in her heart the silent wound lives on.
Dido burns with love — the tragic queen.

[Heu vatum ignarae mentes! quid vota furentem,
quid delubra iuvant? Est mollis flamma medullas
interea, et tacitum vivit sub pectore volnus.
Uritur infelix Dido ….]

Virgil (70-19 BC) Roman poet [b. Publius Vergilius Maro; also Vergil]
The Aeneid [Ænē̆is], Book 4, l. 65ff (4.65-68) (29-19 BC) [tr. Fagles (2006), l. 82ff]
    (Source)

Of lovesick Dido. (Source (Latin)). Alternate translations:

What priestly rites, alas! what pious art,
What vows avail to cure a bleeding heart!
A gentle fire she feeds within her veins,
Where the soft god secure in silence reigns.
[tr. Dryden (1697)]

Alas, how ignorant the minds of seers! what can prayers, what can temples, avail a raging lover? The gentle flame preys all the while upon her vitals and the secret wound rankles in her breast. Unhappy dido burns ....
[tr. Davidson/Buckley (1854)]

Alas! but seers are blind to day:
Can vows, can sacrifice allay
     A frantic lover's smart?
The very marrow of her frame
Is turning all the while to flame,
     The wound is at her heart.
Unhappy Dido! all ablaze ....
[tr. Conington (1866)]

Alas, the ignorance
Of all prophetic lore! What vows, what shrines
Can help her raging love? The soft flame burns,
Meanwhile, the marrow of her life; the wound
Lives silently, and rankles 'neath her breast.
The unhappy Dido [...] with burning bosom ....
[tr. Cranch (1872), l. 85ff]

Ah, witless souls of soothsayers! how may vows or shrines help her madness? all the while the subtle flame consumes her inly, and deep in her breast the wound is silent and alive.
[tr. Mackail (1885)]

Woe's me! the idle mind of priests! what prayer, what shrine avails
The wild with love!—and all the while the smooth flame never fails
To eat her heart: the silent wound lives on within her breast:
Unhappy Dido burneth up ....
[tr. Morris (1900), l. 65ff]

Blind seers, alas! what art
To calm her frenzy, now hath vow or shrine?
Deep in her marrow feeds the tender smart,
Unseen, the silent wound is festering in her heart.
Poor Dido burns ....
[tr. Taylor (1907), st. 9-10; l. 71ff]

How blind the hearts of prophets be! Alas!
Of what avail be temples and fond prayers
to change a frenzied mind? Devouring ever,
love's fire burns inward to her bones; she feels
quick in her breast the viewless, voiceless wound.
[tr. Williams (1910)]

Ah, blind souls of seers! Of what avail are vows or shrines to one wild with love? All the while the flame devours her tender heart-strings, and deep in her breast lives the silent wound. Unhappy Dido burns ....
[tr. Fairclough (1916)]

Alas, poor blind interpreters! What woman
In love is helped by offerings or altars?
Soft fire consumes the marrow-bones, the silent
Wound grows, deep in the heart.
Unhappy Dido burns ....
[tr. Humphries (1951)]

Ah, little the soothsayers know! What value have vows or shrines
For a woman wild with passion, the while love's flame eats into
Her gentle flesh and love's wound works silently in her breast?
So burns the ill-starred Dido ....
[tr. Day Lewis (1952)]

But oh the ignorance of the augurs! How
can vows and altars help one wild with love?
Meanwhile the supple flame devours her marrow;
within her breast the silent wound lives on.
Unhappy Dido burns ....
[tr. Mandelbaum (1971), l. 86ff]

Alas, what darkened minds have soothsayers!
What good are shrines and vows to maddened lovers?
The inward fire eats the soft marrow away,
And the internal wound bleeds on in silence.
Unlucky Dido, burning ...
[tr. Fitzgerald (1981), l. 91ff]

But priests, as we know, are ignorant. What use are prayers and shrines to a passionate woman? The flame was eating the soft marrow of her bones and the wound lived quietly under her breast. Dido was on fire with love ....
[tr. West (1990)]

But what do prophets know? How much can vows,
Or shrines, help a raging heart? Meanwhile the flame
Eats her soft marrow, and the wound lives,
Silent beneath her breast. Dido is burning.
[tr. Lombardo (2005)]

But what can prophets known? What use are vows and shrines to the obsessed? The flame devoured her soft marrow; the silent wound throbbed in her heart. Unhappy Dido burned.
[tr. Bartsch (2021)]

 
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More quotes by Virgil

Didst thou but know the inly touch of love;
Thou wouldst as soon go kindle fire with snow,
As seek to quench the fire of love with words.

William Shakespeare (1564-1616) English dramatist and poet
Two Gentlemen of Verona, Act 2, sc. 7, l. 18ff [Julia] (c. 1590)
    (Source)
 
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Try to remember this: what you project
Is what you will perceive; what you perceive
With any passion, be it love or terror,
May take on whims and powers of its own.

Richard Wilbur
Richard Wilbur (1921-2017) American poet, literary translator
“Walking to Sleep” (1967)
    (Source)

Published in <>The New Yorker (23 Dec 1967).
 
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Pride is not a wise counselor. People who believe themselves to be the incarnation of good have a distorted view of the world. The absence of any obstacle to the deployment of strength is dangerous for the strong themselves: passion takes precedence over reason. “No power without limit can be legitimate,” as Montesquieu wrote long ago. Political wisdom does not consist in seeking only immediate victory, nor does it require systematic preference of “us” over “them.”

Tzvetan Todorov
Tzvetan Todorov (1939-2017) Bulgarian-French historian, philosopher, literary critic, sociologist
Hope and Memory: Reflections on the Twentieth Century, Preface to the English edition (2003)
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The first thing to do when you are upset is to notice that you are. You begin by mastering your emotions and determining not to go any further. With this superior sort of caution you can put a quick end to your anger.

[El primer paso del apasionarse es advertir que se apasiona, que es entrar con señorío del afecto, tanteando la necesidad hasta tal punto de enojo, y no más. Con esta superior refleja entre y salga en una ira.]

Baltasar Gracián y Morales (1601-1658) Spanish Jesuit priest, writer, philosopher
The Art of Worldly Wisdom [Oráculo Manual y Arte de Prudencia], § 155 (1647) [tr. Maurer (1992)]
    (Source)

(Source (Spanish)). Alternate translation:

The first step towards getting into a passion is to announce that you are in a passion. By this means you begin the conflict with command over your temper, for one has to regulate one's passion to the exact point that is necessary and no further. This is the art of arts in falling into and getting out of a rage.
[tr. Jacobs (1892)]

 
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The vulgar ignorance of stubborn people makes them prefer contention to truth and utility. Prudent people are on the side of reason, not passion, whether because they foresaw it from the first, or because they improved their position later.

[Vulgaridad de temáticos, no reparar en la verdad, por contradecir, ni en la utilidad, por litigar. El atento siempre está de parte de la razón, no de la pasión, o anticipándose antes o mejorándose después.]

Baltasar Gracián y Morales (1601-1658) Spanish Jesuit priest, writer, philosopher
The Art of Worldly Wisdom [Oráculo Manual y Arte de Prudencia], § 142 (1647) [tr. Maurer (1992)]
    (Source)

(Source (Spanish)). Alternate translation:

'Tis the common failing of the obstinate that they lose the true by contradicting it, and the useful by quarrelling with it. The sage never places himself on the side of passion but espouses the cause of right, either discovering it first or improving it later.
[tr. Jacobs (1892)]

 
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We were not a latter-day Héloïse and Abelard, Pelléas and Mélisande when we married. For one thing the Héloïse and Abelards, Pelléases and Mélisandes, do not get married and stay married for forty years. A love which depends solely on the combustion of two attracting chemistries, tends to fizzle out. The famous lovers usually end up dead. A long-term marriage has to move beyond chemistry to compatibility, to friendship, to companionship. It is certainly not that passion disappears, but that it is conjoined with other ways of love.

Madeleine L'Engle (1918-2007) American writer
Two-Part Invention: The Story of a Marriage (1988)
    (Source)
 
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The Intellect engages us in the pursuit of Truth. The Passions impel us to Action.

[Cogitatio in vero exquirendo maxime versatur, appetitus impellit ad agendum.]

Marcus Tullius Cicero (106-43 BC) Roman orator, statesman, philosopher
De Officiis [On Duties; On Moral Duty; The Offices], Book 1, ch. 35 (1.35) / sec. 132 (44 BC) [Barnes (1814)]

(Source (Latin)). Alternate translation:

Reflection is chiefly employed in the investigation of truth, appetite impels to action.
[tr. McCartney (1798)]

Reflection chiefly applies itself in the search of truth. Appetite prompts us to action.
[tr. Edmonds (1865)]

Thought is occupied chiefly in seeking the truth; impulse urges to action.
[tr. Peabody (1883)]

Thought is employed in the discovery of truth, appetite impels to action.
[tr. Gardiner (1899)]

Thought is occupied chiefly with the discovery of truth; impulse prompts to action.
[tr. Miller (1913)]

Thought is mostly expended in seeking out the truth, passion urges men to action.
[tr. Edinger (1974)]

 
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That person, then, whose mind is quiet through consistency and self-control, who finds contentment in himself, and neither breaks down in adversity nor crumbles in fright, nor burns with any thirsty need nor dissolves into wild and futile excitement, that person is the wise one we are seeking, and that person is happy.

[Ergo hic, quisquis est, qui moderatione et constantia quietus animo est sibique ipse placatus, ut nec tabescat molestiis nec frangatur timore nec sitienter quid expetens ardeat desiderio nec alacritate futtili gestiens deliquescat, is est sapiens quem quaerimus, is est beatus.]

Marcus Tullius Cicero (106-43 BC) Roman orator, statesman, philosopher
Tusculan Disputations [Tusculanae Disputationes], Book 4, ch. 17 (4.17) / sec. 37 (45 BC) [tr. Graver (2002)]
    (Source)

(Source (Latin)). Alternate translations:

He therefore, call him by what name you will, who through Moderation and Constancy, hath quiet of mind, and is at Peace with himself; so as neither to fret out of Discontent, nor to be confounded with Fear, who neither is inflam'd with an impatient longing after any thing, nor ravish'd out of himself into the Fools Paradice of an empty Mirth; this is the wise man, after whom we are in quest; this the Happy man.
[tr. Wase (1643)]

Whoever then, through moderation and consistency, is at rest in his mind, and in calm possession of himself, so as neither to pine with care, nor be dejected with fear, neither to be inflamed with desire, nor dissolved by extravagant joy, such a one is the very wise man we enquire after, the happy man.
[tr. Main (1824)]

Therefore the man, whoever he is, who has quiet of mind, through moderation and constancy, and thus at peace with himself, is neither corroded with cares, nor crippled by fear; and, thirsting for nothing impatiently, is exempt from the fires of desire, and, dizzied by the fumes of no futile felicity, reels with no riotous joy: this is the wise man we seek: this man is happy.
[tr. Otis (1839)]

Whoever, then, through moderation and constancy, is at rest in his mind, and in calm possession of himself, so as neither to pine with care, nor be dejected with fear, nor to be inflamed with desire, coveting something greedily, nor relaxed by extravagant mirth, -- such a man is that identical wise man whom we are inquiring for, he is the happy man.
[tr. Yonge (1853)]

Whoever then has his mind kept in repose by moderation and firmness, and is at peace with himself so that he is neither wasted by troubles nor broken down by fear, nor burns with longing in his thirsty quest of some object of desire, nor flows out in the demonstration of empty joy, is the wise man whom we seek; he is the happy man.
[tr. Peabody (1886)]

 
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We therefore say once more that a strong mind is not one that is merely capable of strong emotions, but one that under stress of the strongest emotions keeps its balance, so that in spite for the storms within the breast, judgment and conviction can act with perfect freedom, like the needle of the compass on a storm-tossed ship.

[Wir sagen es also noch einmal: Ein starkes Gemüth ist nicht ein solches, welches bloss starker Regungen fähig ist, sondern dasjenige, welches bei den stärksten Regungen im Gleichgewicht bleibt, so dass trotz den Stürmen in der Brust der Einsicht und Ueberzeugung wie der Nadel des Kompasses auf dem sturmbewegten Schiff das feinste Spiel gestattet ist.]

Karl von Clausewitz (1780-1831) Prussian soldier, historian, military theorist
On War [Vom Kriege], Book 1, ch. 3 “On Military Genius [Der Kriegerische Genius],” (1.3) (1832) [tr. Jolles (1943)]
    (Source)

(Source (German)). Alternate translations:

We, therefore, say once more a strong mind is not one that is merely susceptible of strong excitement, but one which can maintain its serenity under the most powerful excitement; so that, in spite of the storm in the breast, the perception and judgment can act with perfect freedom, like the needle of the compass in the storm-tossed ship.
[tr. Graham (1873)]

We repeat: strength of character does not consist solely in having powerful feelings, but in maintaining one’s balance in spite of them. Even with the violence of emotion, judgment and principle must still function like a ship’s compass, which records the slightest variations however rough the sea.
[tr. Howard & Paret (1976)]

 
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How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
I love thee to the depth and breadth and height
My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight
For the ends of being and ideal grace.
I love thee to the level of every day’s
Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light.
I love thee freely, as men strive for right;
I love thee purely, as they turn from praise.
I love thee with the passion put to use
In my old griefs, and with my childhood’s faith.
I love thee with a love I seemed to lose
With my lost saints. I love thee with the breath,
Smiles, tears, of all my life; and, if God choose,
I shall but love thee better after death.

Elizabeth Barrett Browning (1806-1861) English poet
Sonnets from the Portuguese, #43 (1850)
    (Source)
 
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The world belongs to the enthusiast who keeps cool.

William McFee (1881-1966) English writer
Casuals of the Sea, Book 1, ch. 13 (1916)
    (Source)
 
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Such closet politicians never fail to assign the deepest motives for the most trifling actions; instead of often ascribing the greatest actions to the most trifling causes, in which they would be much seldomer mistaken. They read and write of kings, heroes, and statesmen, as never doing any thing but upon the deepest principles of sound policy. But those who see and observe kings, heroes and statesmen, discover that they have headaches, indigestions, humours, and passions, just like other people; every one of which, in their turns, determine their wills, in defiance of their reason.

Lord Chesterfield (1694-1773) English statesman, wit [Philip Dormer Stanhope]
Letter to his son, #205 (5 Dec 1749)
    (Source)
 
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And the winner will be desire,
Shining in the eyes of a bride,
An invitation to bed,
A power to sweep across the bounds of what is Right.
For we are only toys in your hands,
Divine, unbeatable Aphrodite.

[νικᾷ δ᾽ ἐναργὴς βλεφάρων ἵμερος εὐλέκτρου
νύμφας, τῶν μεγάλων πάρεδρος ἐν ἀρχαῖς
θεσμῶν. ἄμαχος γὰρ ἐμπαίζει θεὸς, Ἀφροδίτα.]

Sophocles (496-406 BC) Greek tragic playwright
Antigone, l. 795ff [Chorus, Antistrophe] (441 BC) [tr. Woodruff (2001)]
    (Source)

Original Greek. Alternate translations:

Triumphantly prevails
The heart-compelling eye of winsome bride,
Compeer of mighty Law
Thronèd, commanding.
Madly thou mockest men, dread Aphrodite.
[tr. Storr (1859)]

But victory belongs to radiant Desire swelling from the eyes of the sweet-bedded bride. Desire sits enthroned in power beside the mighty laws. For in all this divine Aphrodite plays her irresistible game.
[tr. Jebb (1891)]

Victorious is the love-kindling light from the eyes of the fair bride; it is a power enthroned in sway beside the eternal laws; for there the goddess Aphrodite is working her unconquerable will.
[tr. Jebb (1917)]

And none has conquered but Love!
A girl’s glance working the will of heaven:
Pleasure to her alone who mock us,
Merciless Aphrodite.
[tr. Fitts/Fitzgerald (1939), l. 653ff]

For the light that burns in the eyes of a bride of desire
Is a fire that consumes.
At the side of the great gods
Aphrodite immortal
Works her will upon all.
[tr. Watling (1947), l. 687ff]

Desire looks clear from the eyes of a lovely bride:
power as strong as the founded world.
For there is the goddess at play whom no man can fight.
[tr. Wyckoff (1954)]

The kindling light of Love in the soft
Eye of a bride conquers, for Love sits on his
throne, one of the great Powers;
Nought else can prevail against
Invincible Aphrodite.
[tr. Kitto (1962)]

Love alone the victor --
warm glance of the bride triumphant, burning with desire!
Throned in power, side-by-side with the mighty laws!
Irresistible Aphrodite, never conquered --
Love, you mock us for your sport.
[tr. Fagles (1982), l. 890ff]

Desire radiant from the eyelids
of a well-bedded bride prevails,
companion in rule with the gods’ great
ordinances. She against whom none may battle,
the goddess Aphrodite, plays her games.
[tr. Tyrell/Bennett (2002)]

You, Love!
Through the lashes of a lusty bride, Passion, you win the day, scorning the great laws which hold sway over the whole world.
Because Aphrodite is invincible!
[tr. Theodoridis (2004)]

The bride’s desire seen glittering in her eyes --
that conquers everything, its power
enthroned beside eternal laws, for there
the goddess Aphrodite works her will,
whose ways are irresistible.
[tr. Johnston (2005), l. 905ff]

 
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In battle the victory goes to Love;
Prizes and properties fall to Love.
Love dallies the night
On a girl’s soft cheeks,
Ranges across the sea,
Lodges in wild meadows.
O Love, no one can hide from you:
You take gods who live forever,
You take humans who die in a day,
And they take you and go mad.

[Ἔρως ἀνίκατε μάχαν, Ἔρως, ὃς ἐν κτήμασι πίπτεις,
ὃς ἐν μαλακαῖς παρειαῖς νεάνιδος ἐννυχεύεις,
φοιτᾷς δ᾽ ὑπερπόντιος ἔν τ᾽ ἀγρονόμοις αὐλαῖς:
καί σ᾽ οὔτ᾽ ἀθανάτων φύξιμος οὐδεὶς
οὔθ᾽ ἁμερίων σέ γ᾽ ἀνθρώπων. ὁ δ᾽ ἔχων μέμηνεν.]

Sophocles (496-406 BC) Greek tragic playwright
Antigone, l. 781ff [Chorus] (441 BC) [tr. Woodruff (2001)]
    (Source)

Original Greek. Alternate translations:

Love! in the fight invincible:
Love! whose attacks at once enslave:
Who on the young maid's delicate cheeks thy nightly vigils keepest:
Who roamest o'er the main and mid the rustic cots!
None can escape thee, -- neither Gods immortal,
Nor men whose lives are fleeting as the day:
He raves whom thou possessest.
[tr. Donaldson (1848)]

Love resistless in fight, all yield at a glance of thine eye,
Love who pillowed all night on a maiden's cheek dost lie,
Over the upland holds. Shall mortals not yield to thee?
Mad are thy subjects all.
[tr. Campbell (1873)]

Love, never foiled in fight!
1 Warrior Love, that on Wealth workest havoc!
Love, who in ambush of young maid's soft cheek
All night keep'st watch!--Thou roamest over seas.
In lonely forest homes thou harbourest.
Who may avoid thee? None!
Mortal, Immortal,
All are o'erthrown by thee, all feel thy frenzy.
[tr. Storr (1859)]

Love, the unconquered in battle, Love, you who descend upon riches, and watch the night through on a girl's soft cheek, you roam over the sea and among the homes of men in the wilds. Neither can any immortal escape you, nor any man whose life lasts for a day. He who has known you is driven to madness.
[tr. Jebb (1891)]

Love, unconquered in the fight, Love, who makest havoc of wealth, who keepest thy vigil on the soft cheek of a maiden; thou roamest over the sea, and among the homes of dwellers in the wilds; no immortal can escape thee, nor any among men whose life is for a day; and he to whom thou hast come is mad.
[tr. Jebb (1917)]

Love, unconquerable
Waster of rich men, keeper
Of warm lights and all-night vigil
In the soft face of a girl:
Sea-wanderer, forest-visitor!
Even the pure Immortals cannot escape you,
And mortal man, in his one day’s dusk,
Trembles before your glory.
[tr. Fitts/Fitzgerald (1939)]

Where is the equal of Love?
Where is the battle he cannot win,
The power he cannot outmatch?
In the farthest corners of earth, in the midst of the sea,
He is there; he is here
In the bloom of a fair face
Lying in wait;
And the grip of his madness
Spares not god or man.
[tr. Watling (1947), l. 675ff]

Love unconquered in fight, love who falls on our havings.
You rest in the bloom of a girl's unwithered face.
You cross the sea, you are known in the wildest lairs.
Not the immortal gods can fly,
nor men of a day. Who has you within him is mad.
[tr. Wyckoff (1954)]

Invincible, implacable Love,
O Love, that makes havoc of all wealth;
That peacefully keeps his night-watch
On tender cheek of a maiden:
The Sea is no barrier, nor
Mountainous waste to Love's flight; for
No one can escape Love's domination,
Man, no, nor immortal god.
Love's Prey is possessed by madness.
[tr. Kitto (1962)]

Love, never conquered in battle
Love the plunderer laying waste the rich!
Love standing the night-watch
guarding a girl's soft cheek,
you range the seas, the shepherds' steadings off in the wilds --
not even the deathless gods can flee your onset,
nothing human born for a day --
whoever feels your grip is driven mad.
[tr. Fagles (1982), l. 879ff]

Eros, undefeated in battle,
Eros, who falls upon possessions,
who, in the soft cheeks of a young girl,
stays the night vigil,
who traverses over seas
and among pastoral dwellings,
you none of the immortals can escape,
none of the day-long mortals, and
he who has you is maddened.
[tr. Tyrell/Bennett (2002)]

Love! You are beyond wars, beyond any place you fall!
You make nests out of the soft cheeks of young girls for your slumber
and you hover over the oceans and distant lands
and no immortal god, nor mortal man with his measured days escapes you!
And then, you catch and your catch becomes insane!
[tr. Theodoridis (2004)]

O Eros, the conqueror in every fight,
Eros, who squanders all men’s wealth,
who sleeps at night on girls’ soft cheeks,
and roams across the ocean seas
and through the shepherd’s hut --
no immortal god escapes from you,
nor any man, who lives but for a day.
And the one whom you possess goes mad.
[tr. Johnston (2005), l. 894]

Love, unconquered in battle, Love, who attacks wealth, who sleeps on a young girl's soft cheek and wanders beyond the sea and in the wilderness: There is no escape from you for immortals or men who live but for a day; he who has you is mad. [tr. Thomas (2005)]
 
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Therefore he who bids the law rule may be deemed to bid God and Reason alone rule, but he who bids man rule adds an element of the beast; for desire is a wild beast, and passion perverts the minds of rulers, even when they are the best of men. The law is reason unaffected by desire.

Aristotle (384-322 BC) Greek philosopher
Politics [Πολιτικά], Book 3, ch. 16 / 1287a.32 [tr. Jowett (1885)]
    (Source)

Alternate translations:

  • "He, therefore, who wishes Law to govern seems to wish for the rule of God and Intellect alone; he who wishes men to rule bring sin the element of the animal. For appetites are of this lower nature, and anger distorts the judgment of rulers, even of the best. And so Law is Intellect without animal impulses." [tr. Bolland (1877)]

  • "Moreover, he who would place the supreme power in mind, would place it in God and the laws; but he who entrusts man with it, gives it to a wild beast, for such his appetites sometimes make him; for passion influences those who are in power, even the very best of men: for which reason law is reason without desire." [tr. Ellis (1912)]

  • "He therefore that recommends that the law shall govern seems to recommend that God and reason alone shall govern, but he that would have man govern adds a wild animal also; for appetite is like a wild animal, and also passion warps the rule even of the best men. Therefore the law is wisdom without desire." [tr. Rackham (1932)]

  • "One who asks law to rule, therefore, is held to be asking god and intellect alone to rule, while one who asks man adds the beast. Desire is a thing of this sort; and spiritedness perverts rulers and the best men. Hence law is intellect without appetite." [tr. Lord (1984)]
 
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As a cause becomes more and more successful, the ideas of the people engaged in it are bound to change.

Margaret Sanger (1879-1966) American birth control activist, sex educator, nurse
Margaret Sanger: An Autobiography, ch. 32 (1938)
    (Source)
 
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There is the heat of Love,
the pulsing rush of Longing, the lover’s whisper,
irresistible — magic to make the sanest man go mad.

[Ἔνθ’ ἔνι μὲν φιλότης, ἐν δ’ ἵμερος, ἐν δ’ ὀαριστὺς
πάρφασις, ἥ τ’ ἔκλεψε νόον πύκα περ φρονεόντων.]

Homer (fl. 7th-8th C. BC) Greek author
The Iliad [Ἰλιάς], Book 14, l. 216ff (14.216) (c. 750 BC) [tr. Fagles (1990), l. 259ff]
    (Source)

Referring to Venus' girdle (cestus). Original Greek. Alternate translations:

In whose sphere
Were all enticements to delight, all loves, all longings were,
Kind conference, fair speech, whose pow’r the wisest doth inflame.
[tr. Chapman (1611), l. 181ff]

In this was every art, and every charm,
To win the wisest, and the coldest warm:
Fond love, the gentle vow, the gay desire,
The kind deceit, the still reviving fire,
Persuasive speech, and more persuasive sighs,
Silence that spoke, and eloquence of eyes.
[tr. Pope (1715-20)]

It was an ambush of sweet snares, replete
With love, desire, soft intercourse of hearts,
And music of resistless whisper’d sounds
That from the wisest steal their best resolves
[tr. Cowper (1791), l. 256ff]

In it were love, and desire, converse, seductive speech, which steals away the mind even of the very prudent.
[tr. Buckley (1860)]

There Love, there young Desire,
There fond Discourse, and there Persuasion dwelt,
Which oft enthralls the mind of wisest men.
[tr. Derby (1864)]

Therein are love, and desire, and loving converse, that steals the wits even of the wise.
[tr. Leaf/Lang/Myers (1891)]

Love, desire, and that sweet flattery which steals the judgement even of the most prudent.
[tr. Butler (1898)]

Therein is love, therein desire, therein dalliance -- beguilement that steals the wits even of the wise.
[tr. Murray (1924)]

Allurement of the eyes, hunger of longing, and the touch of lips that steals all wisdom from the coolest men.
[tr. Fitzgerald (1974)]

There upon it is affection, upon it desire and seductive dalliance with robs even a sensible person of wisdom.
[tr. Merrill (2007)]

 
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The man who is master of his passions is Reason’s slave.

Cyril Connolly (1903-1974) English intellectual, literary critic and writer.
(Attributed)
 
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Age puzzles me. I thought it was a quiet time. My seventies were interesting and fairly serene, but my eighties are passionate. I grow more intense as I age.

Florida Scott-Maxwell (1883-1979) American-British playwright, author, psychologist
The Measure of My Days (1968)
    (Source)
 
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There are very few historical characters who are alive enough to be hated.

William Ralph Inge (1860-1954) English prelate [Dean Inge]
“St. Paul” (1914), Outspoken Essays: First Series (1914)
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If the artist does not throw himself into his work as Curtius sprang into the gulf, as a soldier leads a forlorn hope without a moment’s thought, and if when he is in the crater he does not dig as a miner does when the earth has fallen in on him; if he contemplates the difficulties before him instead of conquering them one by one, like the lovers in fairy tales, who to win their princesses overcome ever-new enchantments, the work remains incomplete; it perishes in the studio where creativeness becomes impossible, and the artist looks on the suicide of his own talent.

[Si l’artiste ne se précipite pas dans son oeuvre, comme Curtius dans le gouffre, comme le soldat dans la redoute, sans réfléchir; et si, sans ce cratère, il ne travaille pas comme le mineur enfoui sous un éboulement: s’il contemple enfin les difficultés au lieu de las vaincre une à une, à l’example de ces amoureux des féeries, qui pour obtenir leurs princesses, combattaient des enchantements renaissants, l’oeuvre reste inachevée, elle périt au fond de l’atelier où la production devient impossible, et l’artiste assiste au suicide de son talent.]

Honoré de Balzac (1799-1850) French novelist, playwright
Cousin Betty [La Cousine Bette] (1846) [tr. Waring (1899)]
    (Source)

Curtius is the young Roman patrician, Marcus Curtius. In 362 BC, a chasm opened up in Rome's forum, and soothsayers proclaimed it could only be filled by Rome's greatest treasure. Curtius mounted his horse and leapt into the chasm, which then closed over him.

Alt. trans.:
  • "If the artist does not throw himself into his work, like Curtius into the gulf beneath the Forum, like a soldier against a fortress, without hesitation, and if, in that crater, he does not work like a miner under a fall of rock, if, in short, he envisages the difficulties instead of conquering them one-by-one, following the examples of lovers in fairy-tales who, to win their princesses, struggle against recurring enchantments, the work remains unfinished, it expires in the studio, wher production remains impossible and the artist looks on at the suicide of his own talent." [tr. Raphael (1992)]
  • "If the artist does not fling himself, without reflecting, into his work, as Curtius flung himself into the yawning gulf, as the soldier flings himself into the enemy's trenches, and if, once in this crater, he does not work like a miner on whom the walls of his gallery have fallen in; if he contemplates difficulties instead of overcoming them one by one ... he is simply looking on at the suicide of his own talent." [Source]
  • Original French.
 
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In art as in lovemaking, heartfelt ineptitude has its appeal and so does heartless skill, but what you want is passionate virtuosity.

John Barth (b. 1930) American writer
Quoted in Charles B. Harris, Passionate Virtuosity: The Fiction of John Barth (1983)
    (Source)

Quoted as such in the introductory materials, without specific citation. Barth used the phrase on multiple occasions, including:
  • "My feeling about technique in art is that it has about the same value as technique in love-making. That is to say, on the one hand, heartfelt ineptitude has its appeal and, on the other hand, so does heartless skill; but what you want is passionate virtuosity." [first used, in Alan Prince, "An Interview with John Barth," Prism (Spring 1968)]
  • "Heartfelt ineptitude has its appeal, Dunyazade; so does heartless skill. But what you want is passionate virtuosity." [Barth, Chimera (1972)]
 
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For some men, the stronger their desire, the more difficult it is for them to act. They are hampered by mistrust of themselves, daunted by the fear of giving offence; besides, deep feelings of affection are like respectable women; they are afraid of being found out and they go through life with downcast eyes.

Gustave Flaubert (1821-1880) French writer, novelist
Sentimental Education, Part 2, ch. 3 (1869)
    (Source)

Elsewhere as Book 2, ch. 16.
 
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Animals often strike us as passionate machines.

Eric Hoffer (1902-1983) American writer, philosopher, longshoreman
Reflections on the Human Condition, Aphorism 7 (1973)
 
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Anger as soon as fed is dead —
‘Tis starving makes it fat.

Emily Dickinson (1830-1886) American poet
Poem #1509 (c. 1881)
    (Source)
 
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The intoxication of anger, like that of the grape, shows us to others, but hides us from ourselves; and we injure our own cause, in the opinion of the world, when we too passionately and eagerly defend it.

Charles Caleb "C. C." Colton (1780-1832) English cleric, writer
Lacon, Vol. 1, #240 (1820)
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Moral passion without entertainment is propaganda, and entertainment without moral passion is television.

Rita Mae Brown (b. 1944) American author, playwright
Starting from Scratch (1989)
    (Source)
 
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Other people’s appetites easily appear excessive when one doesn’t share them.

André Gide (1869-1951) French author, Nobel laureate
The Counterfeiters, “Edouard’s Journal: Oscar Molinier” (1925)
    (Source)
 
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Spiritual strength and passion, when accompanied by bad manners, only provoke loathing.

Friedrich Nietzsche (1844-1900) German philosopher and poet
The Will to Power, Part 1, “Critique of Religion,” Sec. 175 [tr. Ludovici] (1888)
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The way to avoid evil is not by maiming our passions, but by compelling them to yield their vigor to our moral nature. Thus they become, as in the ancient fable, the harnessed steeds which bear the chariot of the sun.

Henry Ward Beecher (1813-1887) American clergyman and orator
Life Thoughts (1858)
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This is no day for the rabble-rouser, whether he be Negro or white. We must realize that we are grappling with the most weighty social problem of this nation, and in grappling with such a complex problem there is no place for misguided emotionalism. We must work passionately and unrelentingly for the goal of freedom, but we must be sure that our hands are clean in the struggle. We must never struggle with falsehood, hate, or malice. We must never become bitter. I know how we feel sometime. There is the danger that those of us who have been forced so long to stand amid the tragic midnight of oppression—those of us who have been trampled over, those of us who have been kicked about — there is the danger that we will become bitter. But if we will become bitter and indulge in hate campaigns, the new order which is emerging will be nothing but a duplication of the old order.

Martin Luther King, Jr. (1929-1968) American clergyman, civil rights leader, social activist, preacher
“Give Us the Ballot,” Speech, Prayer Pilgrimage for Freedom, Washington, DC (1957)
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The truth is always in the minority, and the minority is always stronger than the majority, because as a rule the minority is made up of those who actually have an opinion, while the strength of the majority is illusory, formed of that crowd which has no opinion — and which therefore the next moment (when it becomes clear that the minority is the stronger) adopts the latter’s opinion, which now is in the majority, i.e., becomes rubbish by having the whole retinue and numerousness on its side, while the truth is again in a new minority.

Søren Kierkegaard (1813-1855) Danish philosopher, theologian
Journal (1850)
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Take a book, the poorest one written, but read it with the passion that it is the only book you will read — ultimately you will read everything out of it, that is, as much as there was in yourself, and you could never get more out of reading, even if you read the best of books.

Søren Kierkegaard (1813-1855) Danish philosopher, theologian
Stages on Life’s Way (1845)
 
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You must look into people, as well as at them. Almost all people are born with all the passions, to a certain degree; but almost every man has one prevailing one, to which the others are subordinate. Search every one for that ruling passion; pry into the recesses of his heart, and observe the different workings of the same passion in different people; and when you have found out the prevailing passion of any man, remember never to trust him where that passion is concerned. Work upon him by it, if you please; but be upon your guard yourself against it, whatever professions he may make you.

Lord Chesterfield (1694-1773) English statesman, wit [Philip Dormer Stanhope]
Letter to his son, #112 (4 Oct 1746)
    (Source)
 
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Hearts can break. Yes. Hearts can break. Sometimes I think it would be better if we died when they did, but we don’t.

Stephen King (b. 1947) American author
Hearts in Atlantis (1999)
 
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The profit of books is according to the sensibility of the reader. The profoundest thought or passion sleeps as in a mine, until an equal mind and heart finds and publishes it.

Ralph Waldo Emerson (1803-1882) American essayist, lecturer, poet
“Quotation and Originality,” Letters and Social Aims (1876)
 
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What the tender poetic youth dreams, and prays, and paints to-day, but shuns the ridicule of saying aloud, shall presently be the resolutions of public bodies, then shall be carried as grievance and bill of rights through conflict and war, and then shall be triumphant law and establishment for a hundred years, until it gives place, in turn, to new prayers and pictures.

Ralph Waldo Emerson (1803-1882) American essayist, lecturer, poet
“Politics,” Essays: Second Series (1844)
    (Source)

This quotation is more often given as the paraphrase used by another speaker of the era, the abolitionist Wendell Phillips:

What the tender and poetic youth dreams to-day, and conjures up with inarticulate speech, is to-morrow the vociferated result of public opinion, and the day after is the charter of nations.

Phillips used this phrase, prefixed with, "As Emerson says," and in quotation marks, at least twice. First in his lecture "Harper's Ferry" (1 Nov 1859), Brooklyn. Second, in a different context, in "The Scholar in a Republic" (30 Jun 1881), a famous speech at the centennial of the Phi Beta Kappa society at Harvard University.

Emerson did not use this shorter phrasing, however, in any of his written works, and frequent attributions of it to him are in error.

 
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Reason! reason! … As much as you like; but beware of thinking that it answers to everything, suffices for everything, satisfies everything. This mother loses her child: will reason comfort her? Does cool reason counsel the inspired poet, the heroic warrior, the lover? Reason guides but a small part of man, and that the least interesting. The rest obeys feeling, true or false, and passion, good or bad.

Joseph Roux
Joseph Roux (1834-1886) French Catholic priest
Meditations of a Parish Priest: Thoughts, ch. 4, #95 (1886)
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Executions, far from being useful examples to the survivors, have, I am persuaded, a quite contrary effect, by hardening the heart they ought to terrify. Besides, the fear of an ignominious death, I believe, never deterred anyone from the commission of a crime, because in committing it the mind is roused to activity about present circumstances.

Mary Wollstonecraft (1759-1797) English social philosopher, feminist, writer
Letters Written During a Short Residence in Sweden, Norway, and Denmark, Letter 19 (1796)
 
Added on 21-Apr-16 | Last updated 21-Apr-16
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Let’s not forget that the little emotions are the great captains of our lives, and we obey them without realizing it.

Van Gogh - emotions - wist_info

Vincent van Gogh (1853-1890) Dutch painter
Letter to Theo Van Gogh (Jul 1889)
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It is folly to pretend that one ever wholly recovers from a disappointed passion. Such wounds always leave a scar. There are faces I can never look upon without emotion. There are names I can never hear spoken without almost starting.

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (1807-1882) American poet
Hyperion, Book 2, ch. 3 (1839)
 
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He failed to realized that the public is bored by foreign affairs until a crisis arises; and that then it is guided by feelings rather than thoughts.

Harold Nicolson (1886-1968) English diplomat, author, diarist, politician
The Evolution of Diplomacy, 4.3 (1954)
 
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The voice of passion is better than the voice of reason.
The passionless cannot change history.

Czesław Miłosz (1911-2004) Polish-Lithuanian poet, essayist, diplomat
“The Child of Europe” (1946)
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I know I was writing stories when I was five. I don’t know what I did before that. Just loafed, I suppose.

P. G. Wodehouse (1881-1975) Anglo-American humorist, playwright and lyricist [Pelham Grenville Wodehouse]
“The Art of Fiction #60,” interview with Gerald Clarke, The Paris Review (Winter 1975)
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Added on 1-Sep-15 | Last updated 1-Sep-15
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“I can see we’re going to get along like a house on fire,” said Miss Tick. “There may be no survivors.”

Terry Pratchett (1948-2015) English author
The Wee Free Men (2003)
 
Added on 10-Jun-15 | Last updated 10-Jun-15
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Write while the heat is in you. When the farmer burns a hole in his yoke, he carries the hot iron quickly from the fire to the wood, for every moment is less effectual to penetrate (pierce) it. It must be used instantly or it is useless. The writer who postpones the recording of his thoughts uses an iron which has cooled to burn a hole with. He cannot inflame the minds of his audience.

Henry David Thoreau (1817-1862) American philosopher and writer
Journal (10 Feb 1852)
 
Added on 8-Apr-15 | Last updated 8-Apr-15
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