What A Fool Honesty Is.

His Words Are Bonds, His Oaths Are Oracles; His Love Sincere, His Thoughts Immaculate; His Tears Pure Messengers Sent From His Heart; His Heart As Far From Fraud, As Heaven From Earth

We Will Meet; And There We May Rehearse Most Obscenely And Courageously.

Sir, The Year Growing Ancient, Not Yet On Summer's Death Nor On The Birth Of Trembling Winter, The Fairest Flowers O' Th' Season Are Our Carnations And Streaked Gillyvors, Which Some Call Nature's Bastards.

Be Not Afraid Of Greatness.

Conscience Is A Blushing, Shamefaced Spirit Than Mutinies In A Man's Bosom; It Fills One Full Of Obstacles.