Sunday Clears Away The Rust Of The

Look What A Little Vain Dust We Are!

In My Lucia's Absence Life Hangs Upon Me, And Becomes A Burden; I Am Ten Times Undone, While Hope, And Fear, And Grief, And Rage And Love Rise Up At Once, And With Variety Of Pain Distract Me.

Every Man In The Time Of Courtship And In The First Entrance Of Marriage, Puts On A Behavior Like My Correspondent's Holiday Suit.

A Misery Is Not To Be Measure From The Nature Of The Evil But From The Temper Of The Sufferer.

The Greatest Parts, Without Discretion As Observed By An Elegant Writer, May Be Fatal To Their Owner; As Polyphemus, Deprived Of His Eyes, Was Only The More Exposed On Account Of His Enormous Strength And Stature.