Anger, The Stoics Said, Was A Short

O You Virtuous Owle, The Wise Minerva's Only Fowle.

Woman Was Formed To Admire; Man To Be Admirable. His Are The Glories Of The Sun At Noonday; Hers The Softened Splendors Of The Midnight Moon.

Laws Are Not Made Like Lime-twigs Or Nets, To Catch Everything That Toucheth Them; But Rather Like Sea-marks, To Guide From Shipwreck The Ignorant Passenger.

There Is Nothing Evil But What Is Within Us; The Rest Is Either Natural Or Accidental.

My Thoughts, Imprisoned In My Secret Woes, With Flamy Breaths Do Issue Oft In Sound.