To Be Blind Is Not Miserable; Not

Execute Their Airy Purposes.

A Dungeon Horrible, On All Sides Round, As One Great Furnace, Flamed; Yet From Those Flames No Light, But Rather Darkness Visible Serv'd Only To Discover Sights Of Woe, Regions Of Sorrow, Doleful Shades, Where Peace And Rest Can Never Dwell, Hope Never Comes That Comes To All; But Torture Without End.

Ink Is The Blood Of The Printing-press.

For Such Kind Of Borrowing As This, If It Be Not Bettered By The Borrowers, Among Good Authors Is Accounted Plagiarè.

Never Can True Reconcilement Grow Where Wounds Of Deadly Hate Have Pierced So Deep.