Fame Is A Fickle Food Upon A

It Is Better To Be The Hammer Than The Anvil.

The Past Is Such A Curious Creature To Look Her In The Face A Transport May Receipt Us Or A Disgrace-.

Which Anguish Was The Utterest--then-- To Perish, Or To Live?

God Is Indeed A Jealous God. He Cannot Bear To See, That We Had Rather Not With Him, But With Each Other Play.

The Soul Selects Her Own Society, Then Shuts The Door; On Her Divine Majority Obtrude No More.