Author: Henry David Thoreau (---.spacegate.com.ua)
Date: 01-11-06 13:28
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What potions have I drunk of Siren tears,
Distill\'d from limbecks foul as hell within,
Applying fears to hopes, and hopes to fears,
Still losing when I saw myself to win!
What wretched errors hath my heart committed,
Whilst it hath thought itself so blessed never!
How have mine eyes out of their spheres been fitted,
In the distraction of this madding fever!
O benefit of ill! now I find true
That better is, by evil still made better;
And ruin\'d love, when it is built anew,
Grows fairer than at first, more strong, far greater.
So I return rebuk\'d to my content,
And gain by ill thrice more than I have spent.
Of all tyrannies a tyranny sincerely exercised for the good of its victims may be the most oppressive. It may be better to
live under robber barons than under omnipotent moral busybodies, The robber baron\'s cruelty may sometimes sleep, his
cupidity may at some point be satiated; but those who torment us for own good will torment us without end, for they do so
with the approval of their own conscience.
- C.S. Lewis, In Freedom
Government does not solve problems; it subsidizes them.
My love is as a fever longing still,
For that which longer nurseth the disease;
Feeding on that which doth preserve the ill,
The uncertain sickly appetite to please.
My reason, the physician to my love,
Angry that his prescriptions are not kept,
Hath left me, and I desperate now approve
Desire is death, which physic did except.
Past cure I am, now Reason is past care,
And frantic-mad with evermore unrest;
My thoughts and my discourse as madmen\'s are,
At random from the truth vainly express\'d;
For I have sworn thee fair, and thought thee bright,
Who art as black as hell, as dark as night.