A Man's Renown Is Like The Hue

Perceive Ye Not That We Are Worms, Designed To Form The Angelic Butterfly, That Goes To Judgment, Leaving All Defence Behind? Why Doth Your Mind Take Such Exalted Pose, Since Ye, Disabled, Are As Insects, Mean As Worm Which Never Transformation Knows?

To Run Over Better Waters The Little Vessel Of My Genius Now Hoists Her Sails, As She Leaves Behind Her A Sea So Cruel.

L'amor Che Move Il Sole E L'altre Stelle (the Love That Moves The Sun And The Other Stars)

Fate's Arrow, When Expected, Travels Slow.

Curb Your Talent Lest It Speed Where Virtue Does Not Guide.