Too Much Beauty, I Reckon, Is Nothing

Quick-loving Hearts ... May Quickly Loathe.

World's Use Is Cold, World's Love Is Vain, World's Cruelty Is Bitter Bane; But Is Not The Fruit Of Pain.

No Man Can Be Called Friendless Who Has God And The Companionship Of Good Books.

Get Work, Get Work; Be Sure 'tis Better Than What You Work To Get.

There Shakespeare, On Whose Forehead Climb The Crowns O' The World; Oh, Eyes Sublime With Tears And Laughter For All Time!