All Nature Is But Art Unknown To

Where Grows?--where Grows It Not? If Vain Our Toil, We Ought To Blame The Culture, Not The Soil.

Whoe'er He Be That Tells My Faults, I Hate Him Mortally.

I Have More Zeal Than Wit.

There Is A Majesty In Simplicity.

Heaven Forming Each On Other To Depend, A Master, Or A Servant, Or A Friend, Bids Each On Other For Assistance Call, Till One Man's Weakness Grows The Strength Of All.