Making Night Hideous.

Brevity Is The Soul Of Wit.

To Pore Upon A Book, To Seek The Light Of Truth.

Hot And Hasty, Like A Scotch Jig.

Trifles Light As Air Are To The Jealous Confirmations Strong As Proofs Of Holy Writ.

Assume A Virtue, If You Have It Not. That Monster, Custom, Who All Sense Doth Eat; Of Habits Devil, Is Angel Yet In This.