work_id,theme,provenance,created_at,text,reviewed_on,id,comments,metaphor,dictionary,updated_at,context
4687,"",Reading,2004-05-18 00:00:00 UTC,"""Passion,"" continued the doctor, still holding the dish, ""throws the mind into too violent a fermentation; it is a kind of fever of the soul or, as Horace expresses it, a short madness. Consider, woman, that this day's suction of my son may cause him to imbibe many ungovernable passions, and in a manner spoil him for the temper of a philosopher. Romulus by sucking a wolf became of a fierce and savage disposition; and were I to breed some Ottoman emperor, or founder of a military commonwealth, perhaps I might indulge thee in this carnivorous appetite.""
(Chapter 4, p. 21)",,12365,•,"""'Passion,' continued the doctor, still holding the dish, 'throws the mind into too violent a fermentation; it is a kind of fever of the soul or, as Horace expresses it, a short madness'","",2009-09-14 19:36:54 UTC,Scriblerus's suction
4736,"",Searching in HDIS (Poetry),2005-08-29 00:00:00 UTC,"In Heav'n's kind Ear, I lodg'd th'accepted Pray'r:
(Still reigns my Marlbro's living Influence there!)
Walking, with Seraph Pow'rs, th'eternal Round,
Th'immortal Captain caught th'imploring Sound:
Where, on War's Theme, with Michael, he conferr'd,
And Cæsar's silent Soul, attentive, heard.
Strait, from unbounded Voids of azure Light,
Where Spirits, freed from Flesh, and bleach'd from Night,
Gliding, from Sun to Sun, new Worlds survey,
That roll, by Millions, and adorn their Way:
Th'all-rev'renc'd Leader call'd a wily Mind,
That left all Tinge of bodied Flegm behind;
One, that had Popes and Jesuits Ardour fir'd;
And slow-soul'd Mufties solemn Spleens inspir'd:
Now, stript and naked, skimm'd th'eternal Space,
Anxious for Office, and in Wait, for Place.
Go, cry'd the Voice Seraphic, faithful! try'd!--
In Fleury's brainy Cells, thy Entrance hide:
Heedful attend, where Thought's dim Embryos lie:
Fan the speck'd Fire--but bend its Flame awry.
Lure him th'Effects of pow'rful Wealth to dread:
And to try'd Traffick turn the Frenchman's Head.",,12512,•I've included twice: Leader and Naked,"""Th'all-rev'renc'd Leader call'd a wily Mind, [...] Now, stript and naked, skimm'd th'eternal Space, / Anxious for Office, and in Wait, for Place.""","",2009-09-14 19:37:04 UTC,""
5366,"",HDIS (Poetry),2004-01-06 00:00:00 UTC,"For as old Memnon's image, long renown'd
By fabling Nilus, to the quivering touch
Of Titan's ray, with each repulsive string
Consenting, sounded through the warbling air
Unbidden strains; even so did nature's hand
To certain species of external things,
Attune the finer organs of the mind:
So the glad impulse of congenial powers,
Or of sweet sound, or fair proportion'd form,
The grace of motion, or the bloom of light,
Thrills through imagination's tender frame,
From nerve to nerve: all naked and alive
They catch the spreading rays: till now the soul
At length discloses every tuneful spring,
To that harmonious movement from without
Responsive. Then the inexpressive strain
Diffuses its inchantment: fancy dreams
Of sacred fountains and Elysian groves,
And vales of bliss: the intellectual power
Bends from his awful throne a wondering ear,
And smiles: the passions, gently sooth'd away,
Sink to divine repose, and love and joy
Alone are waking; love and joy, serene
As airs that fan the summer. O! attend,
Whoe'er thou art, whom these delights can touch,
Whose candid bosom the refining love
Of nature warms, o! listen to my song;
And i will guide thee to her favourite walks,
And teach thy solitude her voice to hear,
And point her loveliest features to thy view.
(Bk. I, ll. 109-39, pp. 17-8)",2011-06-11,14404,"•Edited to include more lines: Throne and Population now lumped in; two entries deleted.
•INTERESTING. The intellectual power is often female.","""Then the inexpressive strain / Diffuses its inchantment: fancy dreams / Of sacred fountains and Elysian groves, / And vales of bliss: the intellectual power / Bends from his awful throne a wondering ear, / And smiles: the passions, gently sooth'd away, / Sink to divine repose, and love and joy / Alone are waking; love and joy, serene / As airs that fan the summer.""",Inhabitants and Throne,2011-06-11 19:18:54 UTC,Book I
6797,"",Reading,2011-02-20 21:57:18 UTC,"In vain do you seek repose from beds of roses: In vain do you hope for enjoyment from the most delicious wines and fruits. Your indolence itself becomes a fatigue: Your pleasure itself creates disgust. The mind, unexercised, finds every delight insipid and loathsome; and ere yet the body, full of noxious humours, feels the torment of its multiplied diseases, your nobler part is sensible of the invading poison, and seeks in vain to relieve its anxiety by new pleasures, which still augment the fatal malady.
(p. 150)",,18148,"","""The mind, unexercised, finds every delight insipid and loathsome; and ere yet the body, full of noxious humours, feels the torment of its multiplied diseases, your nobler part is sensible of the invading poison, and seeks in vain to relieve its anxiety by new pleasures, which still augment the fatal malady.""","",2011-02-20 21:57:18 UTC,""
7135,"","Searching ""mind"" in Google Books",2011-12-23 02:23:12 UTC,"There is nothing Platonic in all this; Nature dictates some kind of Sensuality, but that only consequentially; the principal Motive was a brighter Fire, pure and unsullied, as the Vestal Flame; she saw, as the truly valuable Part of the Sex do, Othello's Visage in his Mind; she was too innocent and resigned to be guarded against the Wiles of envious and designing Men; and thus, while basking in the Sunshine of Love, and sporting in the Splendor of its divine Emanations, she was blind to and unguarded against, that dark Side which clouds and balances all human Lustre; and when acting superior, like a rude Storm, bears down all before it, renders the Soul black as Erebus, and works the Passions into a kind of Chaos; yet, is there nothing out of Nature, Truth, and common Experience, in all this; and is a Point so well understood, nay, and encouraged too among the Spanish Ladies, that, however it may appear to affect the Moral of this fine Play, they insist that this Jealousy, this Jaundice of the Mind, this Hurricane of the Spirits, is one of the richest Joys they taste in the Society of Men; and would rather die by the Poniard, than not have their Husbands jealous of them.
(pp. 313-4)",,19361,"","""She [Desdemona] saw, as the truly valuable Part of the Sex do, Othello's Visage in his Mind; she was too innocent and resigned to be guarded against the Wiles of envious and designing Men; and thus, while basking in the Sunshine of Love, and sporting in the Splendor of its divine Emanations, she was blind to and unguarded against, that dark Side which clouds and balances all human Lustre; and when acting superior, like a rude Storm, bears down all before it, renders the Soul black as Erebus, and works the Passions into a kind of Chaos; yet, is there nothing out of Nature, Truth, and common Experience, in all this; and is a Point so well understood, nay, and encouraged too among the Spanish Ladies, that, however it may appear to affect the Moral of this fine Play, they insist that this Jealousy, this Jaundice of the Mind, this Hurricane of the Spirits, is one of the richest Joys they taste in the Society of Men; and would rather die by the Poniard, than not have their Husbands jealous of them.""","",2011-12-23 02:23:40 UTC,""
7399,"",Reading,2013-06-05 19:54:37 UTC,"And why? Because he thinks himself immortal.
All men think all men mortal but themselves;
Themselves, when some alarming shock of Fate
Strikes through their wounded hearts the sudden dread.
But their hearts wounded, like the wounded air,
Soon close; where pass'd the shaft, no trace is found.
As from the wing no scar the sky retains,
The parted wave no furrow from the keel,
So dies in human hearts the thought of death.
E'en with the tender tear which Nature sheds
O'er those we love, we drop it in their grave.
Can I forget Philander? That were strange.
O my full heart!--But should I give it vent,
The longest night, though longer far, would fail,
And the lark listen to my midnight song.
(ll. 423-437, pp. 47-8 in CUP edition)",,20396,"","""But their hearts wounded, like the wounded air, / Soon close; where pass'd the shaft, no trace is found. / As from the wing no scar the sky retains, / The parted wave no furrow from the keel, / So dies in human hearts the thought of death.""",Animals,2013-06-11 14:45:55 UTC,Night the First
7400,"",Reading,2013-06-05 20:56:24 UTC,"Leave to thy foes these errors, and these ills;
To Nature just, their cause and cure explore.
Not short Heaven's bounty, boundless our expense;
No niggard, Nature; men are prodigals.
We waste, not use, our time; we breathe, not live.
Time wasted is existence, used is life.
And bare existence man, to live ordain'd,
Wrings and oppresses with enormous weight.
And why? Since time was given for use, not waste,
Enjoin'd to fly, with tempest, tide, and stars,
To keep his speed, nor ever wait for man;
Time's use was doom'd a pleasure; waste, a pain;
That man might feel his error, if unseen;
And, feeling, fly to labour for his cure;
Not, blundering, split on idleness for ease.
Life's cares are comforts; such by Heaven design'd;
He that has none, must make them, or be wretched.
Cares are employments; and without employ
The soul is on a rack; the rack of rest,
To souls most adverse; action all their joy.
(ll. 145-164, pp. 54-5 in CUP edition)",,20399,"","""The soul is on a rack; the rack of rest, / To souls most adverse; action all their joy.""","",2013-06-05 20:56:24 UTC,Night the Second
7400,"",Reading,2013-06-05 21:11:17 UTC,"But here, Lorenzo, the delusion lies;
That solar shadow, as it measures life,
It life resembles too: Life speeds away
From point to point, though seeming to stand still.
The cunning fugitive is swift by stealth:
Too subtle is the movement to be seen;
Yet soon man's hour is up, and we are gone.
Warnings point out our danger; gnomons, time:
As these are useless when the sun is set;
So those, but when more glorious Reason shines.
Reason should judge in all; in Reason's eye,
That sedentary shadow travels hard.
But such our gravitation to the wrong,
So prone our hearts to whisper what we wish,
'Tis later with the wise than he's aware;
A Wilmington goes slower than the sun:
And all mankind mistake their time of day;
E'en age itself. Fresh hopes are hourly sown
In furrow'd brows. So gentle life's descent,
We shut our eyes, and think it is a plain.
We take fair days in Winter for the Spring;
And turn our blessings into bane. Since oft
Man must compute that age he cannot feel,
He scarce believes he's older for his years.
Thus, at life's latest eve, we keep in store
One disappointment sure, to crown the rest,--
The disappointment of a promised hour.
(ll. 420-446, p. 62 in CUP edition)",,20407,"","""Warnings point out our danger; gnomons, time: / As these are useless when the sun is set; / So those, but when more glorious Reason shines. / Reason should judge in all; in Reason's eye, / That sedentary shadow travels hard.""",Eye,2013-06-05 21:11:17 UTC,Night the Second
7401,"",Reading,2013-06-06 14:17:13 UTC,"Life makes the soul dependent on the dust;
Death gives her wings to mount above the spheres.
Through chinks, styled organs, dim Life peeps at light;
Death bursts the' involving cloud, and all is day;
All eye, all ear, the disembodied power.
Death has feign'd evils Nature shall not feel
Life, ills substantial, Wisdom cannot shun.
Is not the mighty mind, that son of heaven,
By tyrant Life dethroned, imprison'd, pain'd?
By Death enlarged, ennobled, deified?
Death but entombs the body; Life, the soul.
(ll. 448-458, pp. 84-5)",,20429,"","""Through chinks, styled organs, dim Life peeps at light; / Death bursts the' involving cloud, and all is day; / All eye, all ear, the disembodied power.""",Eye,2013-06-06 14:17:35 UTC,Night the Third
7402,"",Reading,2013-06-06 15:16:32 UTC,"Though Nature's terrors thus may be repress'd,
Still frowns grim Death; guilt points the tyrant's spear.
And whence all human guilt? From Death forgot.
Ah me! too long I set at nought the swarm
Of friendly warnings which around me flew;
And smiled unsmitten. Small my cause to smile!
Death's admonitions, like shafts upwards shot,
More dreadful by delay,--the longer ere
They strike our hearts, the deeper is their wound.
O think how deep, Lorenzo! here it stings:
Who can appease its anguish? How it burns!
What hand the barb'd, envenom'd thought can draw?
What healing hand can pour the balm of peace,
And turn my sight undaunted on the tomb?
(ll. 152-165, p. 95 in CUP edition)",,20434,"","""Death's admonitions, like shafts upwards shot, / More dreadful by delay,--the longer ere / They strike our hearts, the deeper is their wound.""","",2013-06-06 15:19:22 UTC,Night the Fourth