Thou Weigh'st Thy Words Before Thou Givest

The Happiest Youth, Viewing His Progress Through, What Perils Past, What Crosses To Ensue, Would Shut The Book, And Sit Him Down And Die.

True, I Talk Of Dreams, Which Are The Children Of An Idle Brain, Begot Of Nothing But Vain Fantasy, Which Is As Thin Of Substance As The Air, And More Inconstant Than The Wind, Who Woos Even Now The Frozen Bosom Of The North, And, Being Anger'd, Puffs Away From Thence, Turning His Side To The Dew-dropping South.

Dost Thou Love Hawking? Thou Hast Hawks Will Soar Above The Morning Lark.

All Pride Is Willing Pride.

Honesty Is The Best Policy. If I Lose Mine Honor, I Lose Myself.