Every Sect Is A Moral Check On

Tyrants Never Perish From Tyranny, But Always From Folly,-when Their Fantasies Have Built Up A Palace For Which The Earth Has No Foundation.

The Sweetest Souls, Like The Sweetest Flowers, Soon Canker In Cities, And No Purity Is Rarer There Than The Purity Of Delight.

Great Men Too Often Have Greater Faults Than Little Men Can Find Room For.

But I Have Sinuous Shells Of Pearly Hue Within, And They That Lustre Have Imbibed In The Sun's Palace-porch, Where When Unyoked Chariot-wheel Stands Midway In The Wave: Shake One, And It Awakens; Then Apply Its Polisht Lips To Your Attentive Ear, And It Remembers Its August Abodes, And Murmurs As The Ocean Murmurs There.

The Happiest Of Pillows Is Not That Which Love First Presses! It Is That Which Death Has Frowned On And Passed Over.