It In Every Fair Face, Every Fair

A Moody Child And Wildly Wise Pursued The Game With Joyful Eyes, Which Chose, Like Meteors, Their Way, And Rived The Dark With Private Ray.

Of All Wit's Uses, The Main One Is To Live Well With Who Has None.

The Soul Rules Over Matter. Matter May Pass Away Like A Mote In The Sunbeam, May Be Absorbed Into The Immensity Of God, As A Mistis Absorbed Into The Heat Of The Sun--but The Soul Is The Kingdom Of God, The Abode Of Love, Of Truth, Of Virtue.

Let None Presume To Measure The Irregularities Of Michael Angelo Or Socrates By Village Scales.

Society Has No Bribe For Me.