Quotes
Long live who holds out undeterred! At other times you have the Devil's airs. In all the world there's nothing more absurd Than is a devil who despairs.
Faust
And here, poor fool! with all my lore I stand, no wiser than before.
Faust
And round we go, on crooked ways or straight, And well I know that ignorance is our fate, And this I hate.
Faust
And if your mind on urgent truth is set, Need you go hunting for an epithet?
Faust
A mind not to be changed by place or time.
The mind is its own place, and in itself
Can make a heav'n of hell, a hell of heav'n.
Paradise Lost
Lovers and madmen have such seething brains,
Such shaping fantasies, that apprehend
More than cool reason ever comprehends.
The lunatic, the lover, and the poet,
Are of imagination all compact:
One sees more devils than vast hell can hold,
That is the madman;
The lover, all as frantic,
Sees Helen’s beauty in a brow of Egypt:
The poet’s eye, in a fine frenzy rolling,
Doth glance from heaven to earth, from earth to heaven;
And, as imagination bodies forth
The forms of things unknown, the poet’s pen
Turns them to shapes, and gives to airy nothing
A local habitation and a name.
From: A midsummers night's dream.
Faust
And here, poor fool! with all my lore I stand, no wiser than before.
Faust
And round we go, on crooked ways or straight, And well I know that ignorance is our fate, And this I hate.
Faust
And if your mind on urgent truth is set, Need you go hunting for an epithet?
Faust
A mind not to be changed by place or time.
The mind is its own place, and in itself
Can make a heav'n of hell, a hell of heav'n.
Paradise Lost
Lovers and madmen have such seething brains,
Such shaping fantasies, that apprehend
More than cool reason ever comprehends.
The lunatic, the lover, and the poet,
Are of imagination all compact:
One sees more devils than vast hell can hold,
That is the madman;
The lover, all as frantic,
Sees Helen’s beauty in a brow of Egypt:
The poet’s eye, in a fine frenzy rolling,
Doth glance from heaven to earth, from earth to heaven;
And, as imagination bodies forth
The forms of things unknown, the poet’s pen
Turns them to shapes, and gives to airy nothing
A local habitation and a name.
From: A midsummers night's dream.