Heaven Be Thanked, We Live In Such

Beauty, Like Ice, Our Footing Does Betray; Who Can Tread Sure On The Smooth, Slippery Way: Pleased With The Surface, We Glide Swiftly On, And See The Dangers That We Cannot Shun.

Bold Knaves Thrive Without One Grain Of Sense, But Good Men Starve For Want Of Impudence.

Great Wits Are Sure To Madness Near Allied, And Thin Partitions Do Their Bounds Divide.

Either Be Wholly Slaves Or Wholly Free.

All Authors To Their Own Defects Are Blind.