Such Joy Ambition Finds.

The Love-lorn Nightingale Nightly To Thee Her Sad Song Mourneth Well.

Peace Hath Her Victories, No Less Renowned Than War.

He Who Tempts, Though In Vain, At Last Asperses The Tempted With Dishonor Foul, Supposed Not Incorruptible Of Faith, Not Proof Against Temptation.

Gratitude Bestows Reverence, Allowing Us To Encounter Everyday Epiphanies.

Sense Of Pleasure We May Well Spare Out Of Life Perhaps, And Not Repine, But Live Content, Which Is The Calmest Life; But Pain Is Perfect Misery, The Worst Of Evils, And Excessive, Overturns All Patience.