No Craving Void Left Aching In The

Sole Judge Of Truth, In Endless Error Hurled: / The Glory, Jest, And Riddle Of The World!

It Is Not So Much The Being Exempt From Faults, As Having Overcome Them, That Is An Advantage To Us.

Men Would Be Angels, Angels Would Be Gods.

What So Pure, Which Envious Tongues Will Spare? Some Wicked Wits Have Libell'd All The Fair, With Matchless Impudence They Style A Wife, The Dear-bought Curse, And Lawful Plague Of Life; A Bosom Serpent, A Domestic Evil, A Night Invasion, And A Mid-day Devil; Let Not The Wise These Sland'rous Words Regard, But Curse The Bones Of Ev'ry Living Bard.

The Doubtful Beam Long Nods From Side To Side.