In Time The Savage Bull Doth Bear

O, Let My Books Be Then The Eloquence And Dumb Presagers Of My Speaking Breast, Who Plead For Love, And Look For Recompense, More Than That Tongue That More Hath More Expressed.

If Our Virtues Did Not Go Forth Of Us, It Were All Alike As If We Had Them Not.

Leave Us To Our Free Election.

A Smile Cures The Wounding Of A Frown.

Affliction May One Day Smile Again; And Till Then, Sit Thee Down, Sorrow!.