Love Must Not Touch The Marrow Of

Oh, Trebly Blest The Placid Lot Of Those Whose Hearth Foundations Are In Pure Love Laid, Where Husband's Breast With Tempered Ardor Glows, And Wife, Oft Mother, Is In Heart A Maid!

Of Mortals There Is No One Who Is Happy. If Wealth Flows In Upon One, One May Be Perhaps Luckier Than One's Neighbor, But Still Not Happy.

The Gifts Of Bad Men Bring No Good With Them.

Your Very Silence Shows You Agree.

Poverty Possesses This Disease; Through Want It Teaches A Man Evil.