All That Glisters Is Not Gold; Often

Beauty Within Itself Should Not Be Wasted.

. . From This Moment The Very Firstlings Of My Heart Shall Be The Firstlings Of My Hand. And Even Now, To Crown My Thoughts With Acts, Be It Thought And Done.

The Seasons Change Their Manners, As The Year Had Found Some Months Asleep And Leapt Them Over.

Tell Me Where Is Fancy Bred, Or In The Heart, Or In The Head?

Allow Not Nature More Than Nature Needs.