Second Thoughts, They Say, Are Best.

And He, Who Servilely Creeps After Sense, Is Safe, But Ne'er Will Reach An Excellence.

Dreams Are But Interludes That Fancy Makes... Sometimes Forgotten Things, Long Cast Behind Rush Forward In The Brain, And Come To Mind.

Dreams Are But Interludes, Which Fancy Makes; When Monarch Reason Sleeps, This Mimic Wakes.

Damn'd Neuters, In Their Middle Way Of Steering, Are Neither Fish, Nor Flesh, Nor Good Red Herring.

Having Mourned Your Sin, For Outward Eden Lost, Find Paradise Within.