Fools Rush In Where Angels Fear To

Whoever Thinks A Faultless Piece To See, Thinks What Ne'er Was, Nor Is, Nor E'er Shall Be, In Every Work Regard The Writer's End, Since None Can Compass More Than They Intend; And If The Means Be Just, The Conduct True, Applause, In Spite Of Trivial Faults, Is Due.

A Field Of Glory Is A Field For All.

Ah! Why, Ye Gods, Should Two And Two Make Four?

Time Conquers All, And We Must Time Obey.

To Balance Fortune By A Just Expense, Join With Economy, Magnificence.