Be Patient, For The World Is Broad

He That Is Proud Eats Up Himself: Pride Is His Own Glass, His Own Trumpet, His Own Chronicle.

Beauty Too Rich For Use, For Earth Too Dear.

...and Then, In Dreaming, / The Clouds Methought Would Open And Show Riches / Ready To Drop Upon Me, That When I Waked / I Cried To Dream Again.

To Beguile The Time, Look Like The Time.

Sweet Flowers Are Slow And Weeds Make Haste.