Francis Bacon, b.1561. English philosopher, statesman, and essayist.
Prosperity doth best discover vice, but adversity doth best discover virtue.
The joys of parents are secret; and so are their griefs and fears. They cannot utter the one; nor they will not utter the other.
As for the passions and studies of the mind: avoid envy; anxious fears; anger fretting inwards; subtle and knotty inquisitions; joys and exhilarations in excess; sadness not communicated. Entertain hopes; mirth rather than joy; variety of delights, rather than surfeit of them; wonder and admiration, and therefore novelties; studies that fill the mind with splendid and illustrious objects, as histories, fables, and contemplations of nature. Laugh, wonder, and hope. Study in accordance with Philippians 4:8.
Judges ought to remember, that their office is jus dicere, and not jus dare; to interpret law, and not to make law, or give law. Isn’t this just what conservatives have been saying in regard to judicial appointments for the past fifty years or so?
Read not to contradict and confute; nor to believe and take for granted; nor to find talk and discourse; but to weigh and consider.
George Gordon, Lord Byron, b.1788.
Byronic: “of, like or characteristic of Byron or his writings, romantic, passionate, cynical, ironic, etc.” I thought Lord Byron, whose birthday is today, was supposed to be wildly good-looking. Here’s the best picture I could find; you see what you think.
Maybe you’re more impressed than I am–or maybe I’m just being Byronic (cynical). Anyway, I did always like this scrap of poetry by Byron–even though I’ve heard people quote it Byronically (cynically and ironically):
SHE walks in beauty, like the night
Of cloudless climes and starry skies;
And all that ‘s best of dark and bright
Meet in her aspect and her eyes:
Thus mellow’d to that tender light
Which Heaven to gaudy day denies.
One shade the more, one ray the less,
Had half impair’d the nameless grace
Which waves in every raven tress
Or softly lightens o’er her face,
Where thoughts serenely sweet express
How pure, how dear their dwelling-place.
And on that cheek and o’er that brow
So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,
The smiles that win, the tints that glow,
But tell of days in goodness spent,—
A mind at peace with all below,
A heart whose love is innocent.
It would be fun to have that written about me. It’s probably the most innocent-sounding poem Byron ever wrote.
