Sweet Food Of Sweetly Uttered Knowledge.

Liking Is Not Always The Child Of Beauty; But Whatsoever Is Liked, To The Liker Is Beautiful.

In The Clear Mind Of Virtue Treason Can Find No Hiding-place.

To Be Rhymed To Death As Is Said To Be Done In Ireland.

Woman Was Formed To Admire; Man To Be Admirable. His Are The Glories Of The Sun At Noonday; Hers The Softened Splendors Of The Midnight Moon.

Ring Out Your Bells! Let Mourning Show Be Spread! For Love Is Dead.