All Life Is A Nap. The More

Happy The Man Who Never Puts On A Face, But Receives Every Visitor With That Countenance He Has On.

The Sower May Mistake And Sow His Peas Crookedly; The Peas Make No Mistake, But Come Up And Show His Line.

My Tongue Is Prone To Lose The Way,not So My Pen, For In A Letterwe Have Not Better Things To Say,but Surely Put Them Better.

Whatever Limits Us We Call Fate.

Nature Is Reckless Of The Individual. When She Has Points To Carry, She Carries Them.