We Must Not Be Content To Be

Deeds, Not Words Shall Speak Me.

Hence, All You Vain Delights, As Short As Are The Nights Wherein You Spend Your Folly! There's Naught In This Life Sweet But Only Melancholy; O Sweetest Melancholy!

Our Acts Our Angels Are, For Good Or Ill, Our Fatal Shadows That Walk By Us Still.

That Soul That Can Be Honest Is The Only Perfect Man.

Charity And Treating Begin At Home.