Death Hath A Thousand Doors To Let

It Is We That Are Blind, Not Fortune; Because Our Eye Is Too Dim To Discern The Mystery Of Her Effects, We Foolishly Paint Her Blind, And Hoodwink The Providence Of The Almighty.

Nature Proceeds Little By Little From Things Lifeless To Animal Life In Such A Way That It Is Impossible To Determine The Exact Line Ure Hath Made One World, And Art Another. In Brief, All Things Are Artificial; For Nature Is The Art Of God.

Flattery Is A Juggler, And No Kin Unto Sincerity.

Quotation Mistakes, Inadvertency, Expedition, And Human Lapses, May Make Not Only Moles But Warts In Learned Authors.

That Some Have Never Dreamed Is As Improbable As That Some Have Never Laughed.