The Well Of True Wit Is Truth

As We To The Brutes, Poets Are To Us.

It Is The Devil's Masterstroke To Get Us To Accuse Him

Behold The Life At Ease; It Drifts, The Sharpened Life Commands Its Course.

She Whom I Love Is Hard To Catch And Conquer, Hard, But O The Glory Of The Winning Were She Won!

That Rarest Gift To Beauty, Common Sense!