But How Can Finite Grasp Infinity?

None, None Descends Into Himself, To Find The Secret Imperfections Of His Mind: But Every One Is Eagle-ey'd To See Another's Faults, And His Deformity.

Love Reckons Hours For Months, And Days For Years; And Every Little Absence Is An Age.

If We From Wealth To Poverty Descend, Want Gives To Know The Flatterer From The Friend.

Chaucer Followed Nature Everywhere, But Was Never So Bold To Go Beyond Her.

He Trudged Along Unknowing What He Sought, And Whistled As He Went, For Want Of Thought.