Wisely Weigh Our Sorrow With Our Comfort.

Where Souls Do Couch On Flowers We'll Hand In Hand.

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.

Good Fortune Then! To Make Me Blest Or Cursed'st Among Men.

Love Runs Away From Those Chasing Her, And Those Who Run Away, She Throws Herself On His Neck.

Ingratitude Is Monstrous.