Every Professional Was Once An

Ye Gods, Annihilate But Space And Time, And Make Two Lovers Happy.

Wholesome Solitude, The Nurse Of Sense!

Some Praise At Morning What They Blame At Night, But Always Think The Last Opinion Right.

Pride Is Still Aiming At The Best Houses: Men Would Be Angels, Angels Would Be Gods. Aspiring To Be Gods, If Angels Fell; Aspiring To Be Angels Men Rebel.

No Silver Saints, By Dying Misers Giv'n, Here Brib'd The Rage Of Ill-requited Heav'n; But Such Plain Roofs As Piety Could Raise, And Only Vocal With The Maker's Praise.