Avaunt, You Cullions!

But Whate'er You Are That In This Desert Inaccessible, Under The Shade Of Melancholy Boughs, Lose And Neglect The Creeping Hours Of Time; If You Have Ever Looked On Better Days, If Ever Been Where Bells Knoll'd To Church, If Ever Sat At Any Good Man's Feast, If Ever From Your Eyelids Wiped A Tear, And Know What 'tis To Pity And Be Pitied, Let Gentleness My Strong Enforcement Be. . . .

We All Are Men, In Our Own Natures Frail, And Capable Of Our Flesh; Few Are Angels.

To Do A Great Right Do A Little Wrong.

Ten Masts Make Not The Altitude Which Thou Hast Perpendicularly Fell. Thy Life's A Miracle.

In Peace There's Nothing So Becomes A Man As Modest Stillness And Humility.