Bastard Freedom Waves Her Fustian Flag In

Though An Angel Should Write, Still 'tis Devils Must Print.

Humility, That Low, Sweet Root, From Which All Heavenly Virtues Shoot.

From Plants That Wake When Others Sleep, From Timid Jasmine Buds That Keep Their Odour To Themselves All Day, But When The Sunlight Dies Away Let The Delicious Secret Out To Every Breeze That Roams About.

Finding The Right Work Is Like Discovering Your Own Soul In The World.

A Pretty Wife Is Something For The Fastidious Vanity Of A Roue To Retire Upon.