It's A Poor Doctor Who

And One Wild Shakespeare, Following Nature's Lights, Is Worth Whole Planets, Filled With Stagyrites.

Pride Measures Prosperity Not By Her Own Advantages But By The Disadvantages Of Others. She Would Not Even Wish To Be A Goddess Unless There Were Some Wretches Left Whom She Could Order About And Lord It Over, Whose Misery Would Make Her Happiness Seem All The More Extraordinary, Whose Poverty Can Be Tormented And Exacerbated By A Display Of Her Wealth. This Infernal Serpent, Pervading The Human Heart, Keeps Men From Reforming Their Lives, Holding Them Back Like A Suckfish.

The Way To Heaven Out Of All Places Is Of Length And Distance.

Instead Of Inflicting These Horrible Punishments, It Would Be Far More To The Point To Provide Everyone With Some Means Of Livelihood, So That Nobody's Under The Frightful Necessity Of Becoming, First A Thief, And Then A Corpse.

The Heart That Has Truly Loved Never Forgets.