The Journal of Psychological Medicine and Mental Pathology, Volum 9

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Pàgina 581 - And the woman said unto the serpent, We may eat of the fruit of the trees of the garden: but of the fruit of the tree which is in the midst of the garden, God hath said, Ye shall not eat of it, neither shall ye touch it, lest ye die.
Pàgina 581 - And the serpent said unto the woman, ye shall not surely die, for God doth know that in the day ye eat thereof then your eyes shall be opened and ye shall be as gods, knowing good and evil.
Pàgina 259 - A company for carrying on an undertaking of great advantage, but nobody to know what it is.
Pàgina 574 - That for some vicious mole of nature in them, As, in their birth— wherein they are not guilty, Since nature cannot choose his origin— By the o'ergrowth of some complexion, Oft breaking down the pales and forts of reason...
Pàgina 378 - O gentle Sleep, Nature's soft nurse, how have I frighted thee, That thou no more wilt weigh my eyelids down. And steep my senses in forgetfulness...
Pàgina 582 - Of virtue to make wise: what hinders then To reach, and feed at once both Body and Mind ? So saying, her rash hand in evil hour Forth reaching to the Fruit, she pluck'd, she eat: Earth felt the wound, and Nature from her seat Sighing through all her Works gave signs of woe, That all was lost.
Pàgina xii - PAUPER'S DRIVE THERE'S a grim one-horse hearse in a jolly round trot; To the churchyard a pauper is going, I wot; The road it is rough, and the hearse has no springs; And hark to the dirge which the sad driver sings: Rattle his bones over the stones! He's only a pauper, whom nobody owns.
Pàgina 378 - Lulled in the countless chambers of the brain, Our thoughts are linked by many a hidden chain. Awake but one, and lo, what myriads rise ! * Each stamps its image as the other flies.
Pàgina 575 - Whose blood and judgment are so well commingled That they are not a pipe for fortune's finger To sound what stop she please. Give me that man That is not passion's slave, and I will wear him In my heart's core, ay, in my heart of heart, As I do thee.
Pàgina x - THERE is in souls a sympathy with sounds; And as the mind is pitch'd the ear is pleased With melting airs, or martial, brisk, or grave : Some chord in unison with what we hear Is touch'd within us, and the heart replies.

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