It Is No Less Vain To Wish

My Thoughts, Imprisoned In My Secret Woes, With Flamy Breaths Do Issue Oft In Sound.

O Sweet Woods, The Delight Of Solitariness!

Scoffing Cometh Not Of Wisdom.

Truth Is The Ground Of Science, The Centre Wherein All Things Repose, And Is The Type Of Eternity.

Sweet Food Of Sweetly Uttered Knowledge.