Brass Shines As Fair To The Ignorant

They Best Pass Over The World Who Trip Over It Quickly; For It Is But A Bog. If We Stop, We Sink.

I Pluck Up The Good Lissome Herbs Of Sentences By Pruning, Eat Them By Reading, Digest Them By Musing, And Lay Them Up At Length In The High Seat Of Memory.

The Stone Often Recoils On The Head Of The Thrower.

I Pray To God That I Shall Not Live One Hour After I Have Thought Of Using Deception.

I Would Rather Be A Beggar And Single Than A Queen And Married.