You Are Made Rather To Wonder At

O, This Life Is Nobler Than Attending For A Check, Richer Than Doing Nothing For A Robe, Prouder Than Rustling In Unpaid-for Silk: Such Pain The Cap Of Him That Makes Him Fine Yet Keeps His Book Uncrossed.

A Great Cause Of The Night Is Lack Of The Sun.

Self-love, My Liege, Is Not So Vile A Sin, As Self-neglecting.

I Had Rather Eleven Died Nobly For Their Country Than One Voluptuously Surfeit Out Of Action.

Promising Is The Very Air O' The Time; It Opens The Eyes Of Expectation.