Gentle Sir Philip Sidney, thou knew'st what belong'd to a scholler; thou knew'st what pains, what toil, what travail conduct to perfection.
5.15.2008
To Birmingham
We leave in a while. The yard: unmowed. The flowers: will be infested with Japanese Beetles. The cats: boarded at the vet. Gas: will be expensive. Piers: taking some books. No plans, now.
"I am grown at length to see into the vanity of the world more than ever I did, and now I condemn myself for nothing so much as playing the dolt in print . . . . There is nothing that if a man list he may not wrest or pervert. I cannot forbid any to think villainously, Sed caveat emptor, let the interpreter beware; for none ever heard me make allegories of an idle text."
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