Books Are Sepulchres Of Thought.

The Smoking Flax Before It Burst To Flame Was Quenched By Death, And Broken The Bruised Reed.

Work Is My Recreation, The Play Of Faculty; A Delight Like That Which A Bird Feels In Flying, Or A Fish In Darting Through The Water,--nothing More.

O Gift Of God! O Perfect Day: Whereon Shall No Man Work, But Play; Whereon It Is Enough For Me, Not To Be Doing, But To Be!

Method Is More Important Than Strength, When You Wish To Control Your Enemies.

At First Laying Down, As A Fact Fundamental, That Nothing With God Can Be Accidental.