I Have Unclasp'd To Thee The Book

Tell Me Where Is Fancy Bred, Or In The Heart, Or In The Head? How Begot, How Nourished? Reply, Reply. It Is Engend'red In The Eyes, With Gazing Fed, And Fancy Dies In The Cradle Where It Lies.

My Wits Begin To Turn.

Go Wisely And Slowly. Those Who Rush Stumble And Fall.

For To Define True Madness, What Is't But To Be Nothing Else But Mad?

Thou Art As Wise As Thou Art Beautiful