work_id,theme,provenance,created_at,text,reviewed_on,id,comments,metaphor,dictionary,updated_at,context
4159,"",Searching on-line offerings at Free-Press Online Library of Liberty (OLL),2005-05-26 00:00:00 UTC,"Ambition raises a secret Tumult in the Soul, it inflames the Mind, and puts it into a violent hurry of Thought: It is still reaching after an empty imaginary Good; that has not in it the power to abate or satisfy it. Most other things we long for can allay the cravings of their proper Sense, and for a while set the Appetite at rest: But Fame is a Good so wholly foreign to our Natures, that we have no Faculty in the Soul adapted to it, nor any Organ in the Body to relish it; an Object of Desire placed out of the possibility of Fruition. It may indeed fill the Mind for a while with a giddy kind of Pleasure, but it is such a Pleasure as makes a Man restless and uneasy under it; and which does not so much satisfy the present Thirst, as it excites fresh Desires, and sets the Soul on new Enterprises. For how few ambitious Men are there, who have got as much Fame as they desired, and whose thirst after it has not been as eager in the very height of their Reputation, as it was before they became known and eminent among Men? There is not any Circumstance inCaesar's Character which gives me a greater Idea of him, than a Saying whichCicero tells us he frequently made use of in private Conversation, That he was satisfied with his share of Life and Fame. Se satis vel ad Naturam, vel ad Gloriam vixisse.3 Many indeed have given over their pursuits after Fame, but that has proceeded either from the Disappointments they have met in it, or from their Experience of the little Pleasure which attends it, or from the better Informations or natural Coldness of Old-Age; but seldom from a full Satisfaction and Acquiescence in their present Enjoyments of it.
(pp. 159-60)",,10709,"","""Ambition raises a secret Tumult in the Soul, it inflames the Mind, and puts it into a violent hurry of Thought.""","",2013-06-04 20:53:45 UTC,""
4153,Flights of Fancy,Searching in HDIS (Poetry),2005-08-29 00:00:00 UTC,"Here proper Ferments animate the Blood,
And give just Vigour to the bounding Flood.
The vital Streams with due impulsive Force
Spring from the Heart, and triumph in their Course;
Rarely a dull unagitated Mass
Do's lazy linger in its circling Race:
Nor do's a flaming rapid Torrent fry
The winding Tubes, and leave the Muscles dry;
While the mild Dews, forc'd with too great a Fire,
Desert the Limbs, and thro' the Pores perspire.
The Purple Streams, warm to a just Degree,
From Dregs and unconcocted Juices free,
As they pervade the Channels of the Brain,
Their purer Parts thro' the fine Meshes strain.
These active Liquors, which Admission find
Thro' the strait Paths, and leave the coarse behind,
Swift to the inmost Rooms their Passage beat,
And crowd around the Soul's Imperial Seat;
Of subtile Matter form'd, refin'd and bright,
As Light'ning sprightly, and serene as Light,
Watching their Soveraign's Nod, they ready stand
Apt to perform the Mind's supream Command.
Such noble Vital Instruments are fit
For Reason's Works, and beauteous Turns of Wit.
With finer Strokes they move the tender Strings
Tun'd in the Brain, whence clear Perception springs.
When Fancy makes superior Flight her Aim,
Wing'd with this vig'rous, clear seraphick Flame,
She ranges Nature's universal Frame;
Bright Seeds of Thought from various Objects takes,
Whence her fair Scenes and Images she makes:
Spirits so swift, so fine, so bold, so strong,
Gave Milton Genius fit for Milton's Song.",2009-07-31,10720,•I had included twice: Birds and Seeds. — I've since decide this is not an Animal metaphor: REVISED (Uncategorized::Wing),"""When Fancy makes superior Flight her Aim, / Wing'd with this vig'rous, clear seraphick Flame, / She ranges Nature's universal Frame; / Bright Seeds of Thought from various Objects takes, / Whence her fair Scenes and Images she makes: / Spirits so swift, so fine, so bold, so strong, / Gave Milton Genius fit for Milton's Song.""","",2013-06-04 15:27:07 UTC,""
7399,"",Reading,2013-06-05 19:41:01 UTC,"Yet man (fool man!) here buries all his thoughts;
Inters celestial hopes without one sigh;
Prisoner of earth, and pent beneath the moon,
Here pinions all his wishes; wing'd by Heaven
To fly at infinite; and reach it there
Where seraphs gather immortality,
On life's fair tree, fast by the throne of God.
What golden joys ambrosial clustering glow
In His full beam, and ripen for the just,
Where momentary ages are no more!
Where Time, and Pain, and Chance, and Death expire!
And is it in the flight of threescore years
To push eternity from human thought,
And smother souls immortal in the dust?
A soul immortal, spending all her fires,
Wasting her strength in strenuous idleness,
Thrown into tumult, raptured, or alarm'd,
At aught this scene can threaten, or indulge,
Resembles ocean into tempest wrought,
To waft a feather, or to drown a fly.
(ll. 135-154, pp. 40-1 in CUP edition)",,20389,"","""A soul immortal, spending all her fires, / Wasting her strength in strenuous idleness, / Thrown into tumult, raptured, or alarm'd, / At aught this scene can threaten, or indulge, / Resembles ocean into tempest wrought, / To waft a feather, or to drown a fly.""","",2013-06-05 19:41:01 UTC,Night the First
7410,"",Searching in Google Books,2013-06-12 13:53:56 UTC,"Enter King.
Some dreadful Birth of Fate is near:
Or why, my Soul, unus'd to fear
With secret Horror dost thou shake?
Can Dreams such dire Impressions make!
What means this solemn silent Show?
This Pomp of Death, this Scene of Woe!
Support me, Heav'n! What's this I read?
O Horror! Rosamond is dead.
What shall I say, or whither turn?
With Grief, and Rage, and Love, I burn:
From Thought to Thought my Soul is toss'd,
And in the Whirle of Passion lost.
Why did I not in Battle fall,
Crush'd with the Thunder of the Gauls
Why did the Spear my Bosom miss;
Ye Pow'rs, was I reserv'd for this!
Disracted with Woe
I'll rush on the Foe
To seek my Relief:
The Sword or the Dart
Shall pierce my sad Heart,
And finish my Grief!
(III.i, p. 31)",,20545,"","""What shall I say, or whither turn? / With Grief, and Rage, and Love, I burn: From Thought to Thought my Soul is toss'd, / And in the Whirle of Passion lost.""","",2013-06-12 13:53:56 UTC,"Act III, Scene i"
4159,"","Searching ""mind"" in Project Gutenberg e-text. ",2013-06-17 19:38:27 UTC,"Ambition raises a secret Tumult in the Soul, it inflames the Mind, and puts it into a violent Hurry of Thought: It is still reaching after an empty imaginary Good, that has not in it the Power to abate or satisfy it. Most other Things we long for can allay the Cravings of their proper Sense, and for a while set the Appetite at Rest: But Fame is a Good so wholly foreign to our Natures, that we have no Faculty in the Soul adapted to it, nor any Organ in the Body to relish it; an Object of Desire placed out of the Possibility of Fruition. It may indeed fill the Mind for a while with a giddy kind of Pleasure, but it is such a Pleasure as makes a Man restless and uneasy under it; and which does not so much satisfy the present Thirst, as it excites fresh Desires, and sets the Soul on new Enterprises. For how few ambitious Men are there, who have got as much Fame as they desired, and whose Thirst after it has not been as eager in the very Height of their Reputation, as it was before they became known and eminent among Men? There is not any Circumstance in Cæsar's Character which gives me a greater Idea of him, than a Saying which Cicero tells us3 he frequently made use of in private Conversation, That he was satisfied with his Share of Life and Fame, Se satis vel ad Naturam, vel ad Gloriam vixisse. Many indeed have given over their Pursuits after Fame, but that has proceeded either from the Disappointments they have met in it, or from their Experience of the little Pleasure which attends it, or from the better Informations or natural Coldness of old Age; but seldom from a full Satisfaction and Acquiescence in their present Enjoyments of it.",,20894,"","""Ambition raises a secret Tumult in the Soul, it inflames the Mind, and puts it into a violent Hurry of Thought: It is still reaching after an empty imaginary Good, that has not in it the Power to abate or satisfy it.""","",2013-06-17 19:38:27 UTC,""
4159,"","Searching ""mind"" in Project Gutenberg e-text.
",2013-06-17 19:40:57 UTC,"So inconsiderable is the Satisfaction that Fame brings along with it, and so great the Disquietudes, to which it makes us liable. The Desire of it stirs up very uneasy Motions in the Mind, and is rather inflamed than satisfied by the Presence of the Thing desired. The Enjoyment of it brings but very little Pleasure, tho' the Loss or Want of it be very sensible and afflicting; and even this little Happiness is so very precarious, that it wholly depends on the Will of others. We are not only tortured by the Reproaches which are offered us, but are disappointed by the Silence of Men when it is unexpected; and humbled even by their Praises.",,20896,"","""The Desire of it stirs up very uneasy Motions in the Mind, and is rather inflamed than satisfied by the Presence of the Thing desired.""","",2013-06-17 19:40:57 UTC,""
4167,"",Reading,2013-08-07 16:54:23 UTC,"What high Perfections grace the human Mind,
In Flesh imprison'd, and to Earth confin'd!
What Vigour has she? What a piercing Sight?
Strong as the Winds, and sprightly as the Light?
She moves unweary'd, as the active Fire,
And, like the Flame, her Flights to Heav'n aspire.
By Day her Thoughts in never-ceasing Streams
Flow clear, by Night they strive in troubled Dreams.
She draws ten thousand Landschapes in the Brain,
Dresses of airy Forms an endless Train,
Which all her Intellectual Scenes prepare,
Enter by turns the Stage, and disappear.
To the remoter Regions of the Sky
Her swift-wing'd Thought can in a Moment fly;
Climb to the Heights of Heav'n, to be employ'd
In viewing thence th'Interminable Void.
Can look beyond the Stream of Time, to see
The stagnant Ocean of Eternity.
Thoughts in an Instant thro' the Zodiack run,
A Year's long Journey for the lab'ring Sun:
Then down they shoot, as swift as darting Light,
Nor can opposing Clouds retard their Flight:
Thro' Subterranean Vaults with Ease they sweep,
And search the hidden Wonders of the Deep.
(VII, ll. 204-227, pp. 323-4)",,22106,"","""Strong as the Winds, and sprightly as the Light? / She [the mind] moves unweary'd, as the active Fire, / And, like the Flame, her Flights to Heav'n aspire.""","",2013-08-07 16:54:23 UTC,Book VII
7638,"",LION,2013-08-20 05:09:45 UTC,"EUDOCIA
There will I dedicate my self to Heav'n.
O Phocyas, for thy Sake, no Rival else
Shall e'er possess my Heart. My Father too
Consents to this my Vow. My vital Flame
There, like a Taper on the holy Altar,
Shall waste away; till Heav'n relenting hear
Incessant Pray'rs for thee and for my self,
And wing my Soul to meet with thine in Bliss.
For in that Thought I find a sudden Hope,
As if inspir'd, springs in my Breast, and tells me
That thy repenting Frailty is forgiven,
And we shall meet again, to part no more.
(p.67)",,22510,"","""My vital Flame / There, like a Taper on the holy Altar, / Shall waste away; till Heav'n relenting hear / Incessant Pray'rs for thee and for my self, / And wing my Soul to meet with thine in Bliss.""","",2013-08-20 05:09:45 UTC,""
4906,"",Reading,2014-06-11 21:19:22 UTC,"Thus have I vainly strove, with strokes too faint,
Love, in his known, and outward marks, to paint;
Unmindful, that, of old, they veil'd his face,
And wisely cover'd, what they could not trace.
Lovely creator of my soul's soft pain,
Pity the pencil, that aspir'd in vain:
Vers'd in love's pangs, and taught his pow'r, by you,
Skill'd, I presum'd, that what I felt, I drew;
But I have err'd; and, with delirious aim,
Would picture motion, and imprison flame.
He, who can light'ning's flash, to colours, bind,
May paint love's influence, on the burning mind.
Then, when we master him, and give him law,
Then may we chain him, and his image draw:
But who would bind this god, must, captive take,
A power, which all mankind can captive make;
I am too weak of heart; yet, I can tell
Those, who dare seize him, where he loves to dwell.
I see him now; in his own heav'n, he lies,
Close at sweet ambush, in Miranda 's eyes.
(pp. 171-190; cf. pp. 203-4)",,23955,"","""But I have err'd; and, with delirious aim, / Would picture motion, and imprison flame. / He, who can light'ning's flash, to colours, bind, / May paint love's influence, on the burning mind.""","",2014-06-11 21:19:22 UTC,""
7957,"",Searching in ECCO-TCP,2014-07-02 15:40:18 UTC,"Away the Skilful Doctor comes
Of Recipes and Med'cines full,
To check the giddy Whirl of Nature's Fires,
If so th' unruly Case requires;
Or with his Cobweb-cleansing Brooms
To sweep and clear the over-crouded Scull,
If settl'd Spirits flag, and make the Patient dull.
But asking what the Symptoms were,
That made 'em think he was so bad?
The Man indeed, they cry'd, is wond'rous Mad
You, at this Distance, may behold him there
Beneath that Tree in open Air,
Surrounded with the Engines of his Fate,
The Gimcracks of a broken Pate.
Those Hoops a Sphere he calls,
That Ball the Earth;
And when into his raving Fit he falls,
'Twou'd move at once your Pity, and your Mirth,
To hear him, as you will do soon,
Declaring, there's a Kingdom in the Moon;
And that each Star, for ought he knows,
May some Inhabitants enclose:
Philosophers, he says, may there abound,
Such Jugglers as himself be in them found;
Which if there be, the World may well turn round;
At least to those, whose Whimsies are so strange,
That, whilst they're fixt to one peculiar Place,
Pretend to measure far extended Space,
And 'mongst the Planets range.
Behold him now contemplating that Head,
From which long-since both Flesh, and Brains are fled;
Questioning, if that empty, hollow Bowl
Did not ere while contain the Human Soul:
Then starts a Doubt, if 'twere not to the Heart
That Nature rather did that Gift impart.
Good Sir, employ the utmost of your Skill,
To make him Wiser, tho' against his Will;
Who thinks, that he already All exceeds,
And laughs at our most solemn Words and Deeds:
Tho' once amongst us he wou'd try a Cause,
And Bus'ness of the Town discuss,
Knowing, as well as one of us,
The Price of Corn, and standing Market-Laws;
Wou'd bear an Office in his Turn,
For which good Purposes all Men were born;
Not to be making Circles in the Sand,
And scaling Heav'n, till they have sold their Land.
Or, when unstock'd below their Pasture lies,
To find out Bulls and Rams, amidst the Skies.
From these Mistakes his Madness we conclude;
And hearing, you was with much Skill endu'd,
Your Aid we sought. Hippocrates amaz'd,
Now on the Sage, now on the Rabble gaz'd;
And whilst he needless finds his artful Rules,
Pities a Man of Sense, judg'd by a Croud of Fools
Then how can we with their Opinions join,
Who, to promote some Int'rest, wou'd define
The Peoples Voice to be the Voice Divine?
(pp. 286-8)",,24130,"","""Away the Skilful Doctor comes / Of Recipes and Med'cines full, / To check the giddy Whirl of Nature's Fires, / If so th' unruly Case requires; / Or with his Cobweb-cleansing Brooms / To sweep and clear the over-crouded Scull, / If settl'd Spirits flag, and make the Patient dull.""",Rooms,2014-07-02 15:40:42 UTC,""