Live And Die In Aristotle's Works.

O, Thou Art Fairer Than The Evening Air Clad In The Beauty Of A Thousand Stars.

I Am Envy, Begotten Of A Chimney-sweeper And An Oyster-wife. I Cannot Read, And Therefore Wish All Books Were Burnt; I Am Lean With Seeing Others Eat - O That There Would Come A Famine Through All The World, That All Might Die, And I Live Alone; Then Thou Should'st See How Fat I Would Be! But Must Thou Sit And I Stand? Come Down, With A Vengeance!

My Men Like Satyrs Grazing On The Lawns, / Shall With Their Goat-feet Dance An Antic Hay.

I Am Envy...i Cannot Read And Therefore Wish All Books Burned.

Virtue Is The Fount Whence Honour Springs.