Brass Shines As Fair To The Ignorant

When We Hang On To Resentments, We Poison Ourselves. As Compulsive Overeaters, We Cannot Afford Resentment, Since It Exacerbates Our Disease.

The Doubt Of Future Foes Exiles My Present Joy.

The Past Cannot Be Cured.

I Plucke Up The Goodlie Greene Herbes Of Sentences By Pruning, Eat Them By Reading, Chawe Them By Musing, And Laie Them Up At Length In The Hie Seate Of Memorie By Gathering Them Together; That I, Having Tasted The Sweetenes, L May The Lesse Perceave The Bitternes Of This Miserable Life.

Where Minds Differ And Opinions Swerve There Is Scant A Friend In That Company.