The Ceaseless Labour Of Your Life Is

Vexations May Be Petty, But They Are Vexations Still.

Not Only Does The Wind Of Accidents Stir Me According To Its Blowing, But I Am Also Stirred And Troubled By The Instability Of My Attitude.

He Loves Little Who Loves By Rule.

No Man Is A Hero To His Own Valet.

Rash And Incessant Scolding Runs Into Custom And Renders Itself Despised.