
Personal Quotes 2009–2012
Source: https://twitter.com/chriscolfer, Chris Colfer's personal twitter account.
The Tragedy of Irene (1749), Prologue
Context: Unmoved though Witlings sneer and Rivals rail,
Studious to please, yet not ashamed to fail.
He scorns the meek address, the suppliant strain.
With merit needless, and without it vain.
In Reason, Nature, Truth, he dares to trust:
Ye Fops, be silent: and ye Wits, be just.
Personal Quotes 2009–2012
Source: https://twitter.com/chriscolfer, Chris Colfer's personal twitter account.
Source: A Dream of John Ball (1886), Ch. 4: The Voice of John Ball
Context: Forsooth, ye have heard it said that ye shall do well in this world that in the world to come ye may live happily for ever; do ye well then, and have your reward both on earth and in heaven; for I say to you that earth and heaven are not two but one; and this one is that which ye know, and are each one of you a part of, to wit, the Holy Church, and in each one of you dwelleth the life of the Church, unless ye slay it.
XVIII, 3
The Kitáb-I-Asmá
XVII, 2
The Kitáb-I-Asmá
"France: An Ode", st. 1 (1798)
“We have been silent witnesses of evil deeds: we have been drenched by many storms”
Source: Letters and Papers from Prison (1967; 1997), Are we still of any use?, p. 16.
Context: We have been silent witnesses of evil deeds: we have been drenched by many storms; we have learnt the arts of equivocation and pretence; experience has made us suspicious of others and kept us from being truthful and open; intolerable conflicts have worn us down and even made us cynical. Are we still of any use? What we shall need is not geniuses, or cynics, or misanthropes, or clever tacticians, but plain, honest, straightforward men. Will our inward power of resistance be strong enough, and our honesty with ourselves remoreseless enough, for us to find our way back to simplicity and straightforwardness?
“O learn to read what silent love hath writ: To hear with eyes belongs to love´s fine wit.”
Source: Sonnet XXIII
Context: As an unperfect actor on the stage,
Who with his fear is put besides his part,
Or some fierce thing replete with too much rage,
Whose strength’s abundance weakens his own heart;
So I, for fear of trust, forget to say
The perfect ceremony of love’s right,
And in mine own love’s strength seem to decay,
O’ercharged with burthen of mine own love’s might.
O, let my books be then the eloquence
And dumb presagers of my speaking breast;
Who plead for love, and look for recompense,
More than that tongue that more hath more express’d.
O, learn to read what silent love hath writ:
To hear with eyes belongs to love’s fine wit.