Forbear to spew out reason from your mind, but rather ponder everything with keen judgment; and if it seems true, own yourself vanquished, but, if it is false, gird up your loins to fight.
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Anand Thakur
Forbear to spew out reason from your mind, but rather ponder everything with keen judgment; and if it seems true, own yourself vanquished, but, if it is false, gird up your loins to fight.
LUCRETIUSSuch crimes has superstition caused.
LUCRETIUSIf men saw that a term was set to their troubles, they would find strength in some way to withstand the hocus-pocus and intimidations of the prophets.
LUCRETIUSThese the senses we trust, first, last, and always.
LUCRETIUSAll things keep on in everlasting motion, Out of the infinite come the particles, Speeding above, below, in endless dance.
LUCRETIUSA falling drop at last will carve a stone.
LUCRETIUSIf one thing frightens people, it is that so much happens, on earth and out in space, the reasons for which seem somehow to escape them, and they fill in the gap by putting it down to the gods.
LUCRETIUSYou alone govern the nature of things. Without you nothing emerges into the light of day, without you nothing is joyous or lovely.
LUCRETIUSMother of Aeneas, pleasure of men and gods.
LUCRETIUSIt is pleasurable, when winds disturb the waves of a great sea, to gaze out from land upon the great trials of another.
LUCRETIUSThe mask is torn off, while the reality remains
LUCRETIUSWhy dost thou not retire like a guest sated with the banquet of life, and with calm mind embrace, thou fool, a rest that knows no care?
LUCRETIUSSweet it is, when on the high seas the winds are lashing the waters, to gaze from the land on another’s struggles.
LUCRETIUSNow come: that thou mayst able be to know That minds and the light souls of all that live Have mortal birth and death, I will go on Verses to build meet for thy rule of life, Sought after long, discovered with sweet toil.
LUCRETIUSThe first-beginnings of things cannot be distinguished by the eye.
LUCRETIUSFrom the heart of the fountain of delight rises a jet of bitterness that tortures us among the very flowers.
LUCRETIUS