I Am Right Sorry For Your Heavinesse.

How Potent Is The Fancy! People Are So Impressionable, They Can Die Of Imagination.

Go, Little Booke! Go, My Little Tragedie!

In Love There Is But Little Rest.

Purity In Body And Heart May Please Some--as For Me, I Make No Boast. For, As You Know, No Master Of A Household Has All Of His Utensils Made Of Gold; Some Are Wood, And Yet They Are Of Use.

One Eare It Heard, At The Other Out It Went.