Alas, I Know If I Ever Became

He That Speaks Much, Is Much Mistaken.

If You Would Persuade, You Must Appeal To Interest Rather Than Intellect.

I Have Thought That Wild Flowers Might Be The Alphabet Of Angels, — Whereby They Write On Hills And Fields Mysterious Truths, Which It Is Not Given Our Fallen Nature To Understand.

Lying Rides Upon Debt's Back.

There Is No Little Enemy