No Man So Wise That He May

The Voice So Sweet, The Words So Fair, As Some Soft Chime Had Stroked The Air; And Though The Sound Had Parted Thence, Still Left An Echo In The Sense.

Where Dost Thou Careless Lie, Buried In Ease And Sloth? Knowledge That Sleeps, Doth Die; And This Security, It Is The Common Moth, That Eats On Wits And Arts, And Oft Destroys Them Both.

For A Man To Write Well, There Are Required Three Necessaries: To Read The Best Authors, Observe The Best Speakers, And Much Exercise Of His Own Style.

Guilt's A Terrible Thing.

Whom The Disease Of Talking Still Once Posses-seth, He Can Never Hold His Peace.