As The Caterpillar Chooses The

The Man Who Pretends To Be A Modest Enquirer Into The Truth Of A Self-evident Thing Is A Knave.

Where Any View Of Money Exists, Art Cannot Be Carried On.

Dear Mother, Dear Mother, The Church Is Cold, But The Ale-house Is Healthy And Pleasant And Warm.

The Grave Is Heaven's Golden Gate, And Rich And Poor Around It Wait; O Shepherdess Of England's Fold, Behold This Gate Of Pearl And Gold!

I Have No Name: I Am But Two Days Old. What Shall I Call Thee? I Happy Am, Joy Is My Name. Sweet Joy Befall Thee!