Where The Heart Lies, Let The Brain

Rejoice That Man Is Hurled, From Change To Change Unceasingly, His Soul's Wings Never Furled!

As If True Pride Were Not Also Humble!

In Heaven I Yearn For Knowledge, Account All Else Inanity; On Earth I Confess An Itch For The Praise Of Fools - That's Vanity

God Is The Perfect Poet, Who In His Person Acts His Own Creations.

For Thence A Paradox Which Comforts While It Mocks, - Shall Life Succeed In That It Seems To Fail: What I Aspired To Be, And Was Not, Comforts Me: A Brute I Might Have Been, But Would Not Sink I' The Scale.