Your friends avoid you, brutishly transform'd They hardly know you, or if one remains To wish you well, he wishes you in heaven. — John Armstrong Copy Share Image
Ye youths and virgins, when your generous blood Has drunk the warmth of fifteen summers, now The loves invite; now to new rapture wakes… — John Armstrong Copy Share Image
Virtue and sense are one; and, trust me, still A faithless heart betrays the head unsound. — John Armstrong Copy Share Image
He knows enough, the mariner, who knows Where lurk the shelves, and where the whirlpools boil, What signs portend the storm: to subtler minds He leaves to scan, from what mysterious cause Charybdis rages in the Ionian wave; Whence those impetuous currents in the main Which neither oar nor sail can stem; and why The roughening deep expects the storm,… — John Armstrong Copy Share
“But mostly what we think of as the 'meaning' of life concerns the style of the private autobiography we each write and which records how we 'see' ourselves. Whether this autobiography reads as a narrative of progress in which difficulties are transcended, or is chaotic, is the test of whether one's life seems to be meaningful or not. Meaning is… — John Armstrong Copy Share
We know great Nature's pow'r, Mother of things, whose vast unbounded sway From the deep centre all around extends Wide to the flaming barriers of the world. We feel her power; we strive not to repress (Vainly repress'd, or to deformity) Her lawful growth: ours be the task alone To check her rude excrescencies, to prune Her wanton overgrowth, and… — John Armstrong Copy Share
Much had he read, Much more had he seen; he studied from the life, And in th' original perus'd mankind. — John Armstrong Copy Share Image
Our greatest good, and what we least can spare, Is hope: the last of all our evils, fear. — John Armstrong Copy Share Image
Virtue, the strength and beauty of the soul, Is the best gift of Heaven: a happiness That even above the smiles and frowns of… — John Armstrong Copy Share Image
