His Bark Is Worse Than His Bite.

Brabling Curres Never Want Torne Eares.

To A Crazy Ship, All Winds Are Contrary.

No Alchymy To Saving.

'it's This Accursed Science,' I Cried. 'it's The Very Devil. The Mediaeval Priests And Persecutors Were Right, And The Moderns Are All Wrong. You Tamper With It-and It Offers You Gifts. And Directly You Take Them It Knocks You To Pieces In Some Unexpected Way.'

In Solitude, Be A Multitude To Thyself. Tibullus By All Means Use Sometimes To Be Alone.