He Is Rich Who Hath Enough To

The Service Of Love Is The Foolishest Act A Wise Man Commits In All His Life, Nor Is There Anything That Will More Deject His Cool'd Imagination, When He Shall Consider What An Odd And Unworthy Piece Of Folly He Hath Committed.

A Little Water Makes A Sea, A Small Puff Of Wind A Tempest.

Half Our Days We Pass In The Shadow Of The Earth; And The Brother Of Death Exacteth A Third Part Of Our Lives.

Charity But How Shall We Expect Charity Towards Others, When We Are Uncharitable To Ourselves? Charity Begins At Home, Is The Voice Of The World; Yet Is Every Man His Greatest Enemy, And, As It Were, His Own Executioner.

But The Iniquity Of Oblivion Blindly Scattereth Her Poppy, And Deals With The Memory Of Men Without Distinction To Merit Of Perpetuity.