From the heart of the fountain of delight rises a jet of bitterness that tortures us among the very flowers.
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Anand Thakur
From the heart of the fountain of delight rises a jet of bitterness that tortures us among the very flowers.
LUCRETIUSTrue piety lies rather in the power to contemplate the universe with a quiet mind.
LUCRETIUSBy protracting life, we do not deduct one jot from the duration of death.
LUCRETIUSOut beyond our world there are, elsewhere, other assemblages of matter making other worlds. Ours is not the only one in air’s embrace.
LUCRETIUSThe highest summits and those elevated above the level of other things are mostly blasted by envy as by a thunderbolt.
LUCRETIUSMeantime, when once we know from nothing still Nothing can be create, we shall divine More clearly what we seek: those elements From which alone all things created are, And how accomplished by no tool of Gods.
LUCRETIUSWe plainly perceive that the mind strengthens and decays with the body.
LUCRETIUSFrom the midst of the very fountain of pleasure, something of bitterness arises to vex us in the flower of enjoyment.
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.
LUCRETIUSWhenever anything changes and quits its proper limits, this change is at once the death of that which was before.
LUCRETIUSOne thing is made of another, and nature allows no new creation except at the price of death.
LUCRETIUSEpicurus whose genius surpassed all humankind, extinguished the light of others, as the stars are dimmed by the rising sun.
LUCRETIUSThough the dungeon, the scourge, and the executioner be absent, the guilty mind can apply the goad and scorch with blows.
LUCRETIUSNature allows Destruction nor collapse of aught, until Some outward force may shatter by a blow, Or inward craft, entering its hollow cells, Dissolve it down.
LUCRETIUSIn the midst of the fountain of wit there arises something bitter, which stings in the very flowers.
LUCRETIUSThere can be no centre in infinity.
LUCRETIUS