Hurry No Man's Cattle; You May Come

O, What A Tangled Web We Weave When First We Practise To Deceive!

There Never Will Exist Anything Permanently Noble And Excellent In The Character Which Is A Stranger To Resolute Self-denial.

The Lover's Pleasure, Like That Of The Hunter, Is In The Chase, And The Brightest Beauty Loses Half Its Merit, As The Flower Its Perfume, When The Willing Hand Can Reach It Too Easily. There Must Be Doubt; There Must Be Difficulty And Danger.

And Better Had They Ne'er Been Born, Who Read To Doubt, Or Read To Scorn.

Adversity Is Like The Period Of The Rain. . . Cold, Comfortless, Unfriendly To People And To Animals; Yet From That Season Have Their Birth The Flower, The Fruit, The Date, The Rose And The Pomegranate.