I closed the book*, angry with myself that I should still be admiring earthly things who might long ago have learned from even the pagan philosophers… - Petrarch

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I closed the book*, angry with myself that I should still be admiring earthly things who might long ago have learned from even the pagan philosophers that nothing is wonderful but the soul, which, when great itself, finds nothing great outside itself. Then, in truth, I was satisfied that I had seen enough of the mountain; I turned my inward eye upon myself, and from that time not a syllable fell from my lips until we reached the bottom again... [W]e look about us for what is to be found only within... How many times, think you, did I turn back that day, to glance at the summit of the mountain which seemed scarcely a cubit high compared with the range of human contemplation.

* Augustine's Confessions: And men go about to wonder at the heights of the mountains, and the mighty waves of the sea, and the wide sweep of rivers, and the circuit of the ocean, and the revolution of the stars, but themselves they consider not.

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About Petrarch

Francesco Petrarca (or Petrarch) (July 20, 1304 – July 19, 1374) was an Italian scholar, poet, and early humanist. Petrarch and Dante are considered the fathers of the Renaissance.

Biography information from Wikiquote

Also Known As

Alternative Names: Francesco Petrarca Peetrarque Petrarque Francesco Peetrarque Francesco Petrarch Francis Petrarch Petrarca
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Additional quotes by Petrarch

Love discovered me all weaponless,
and opened the way to the heart through the eyes,
which are made the passageways and doors of tears:

so that it seems to me it does him little honour
to wound me with his arrow, in that state,
he not showing his bow at all to you who are armed

Perhaps I am sated with travel, with rambling through many lands; perhaps my youthful ardor is relaxing and cooling, turning naturally to a love of peace, suitable for my occupations. At any rate I am losing my love of roving.

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Having indeed seen so many things and considered so much, I have finally begun to understand how many are these desires with which the human species burns. Lest you consider me immune to all the sins of men, there is one implacable passion that holds me which so far I have been neither able nor willing to check, for I flatter myself that the desire for noble things is not dishonorable. Do you wish to hear the nature of this disease? I am unable to satisfy my thirst for books.

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