I Would Not Live Over

The World, Which Took Six Days To Make, Is Likely To Take Us Six Thousand Years To Make Out.

It Is We That Are Blind, Not Fortune.

Miserable Men Commiserate Not Themselves; Bowelless Unto Others, And Merciless Unto Their Own Bowels.

There Are Mystically In Our Faces Certain Characters Which Carry In Them The Motto Of Our Souls, Wherein He That Cannot Read May Read Our Natures.

The Religion Of One Seems Madness Unto Another.