Soft Pity Enters An Iron Gate.

Exit, Pursued By A Bear.

The Truest Poetry Is The Most Feigning.

Men That Hazard All Do It In Hope Of Fair Advantages: A Golden Mind Stoops Not To Shows Of Dross.

It Is The Cowish Terror Of His Spirit That Dares Not Undertake; He'll Not Feel Wrongs Which Tie Him To An Answer.

Have I Thought Long To See This Morning’s Face, And Doth It Give Me Such A Sight As This?