I Am Resolved To Grow Fat, And

Learn To Write Well, Or Not To Write At All.

What I Have Left Is From My Native Spring; I've Still A Heart That Swells, In Scorn Of Fate, And Lifts Me To My Banks.

A Good Conscience Is A Port Which Is Landlocked On Every Side, Where No Winds Can Possibly Invade. There A Man May Not Only See His Own Image, But That Of His Maker, Clearly Reflected From The Undisturbed Waters.

Long Pains, With Use Of Bearing, Are Half Eased.

Thou Tyrant, Tyrant Jealousy, Thou Tyrant Of The Mind!