Mortifications Are Often More Painful

Elegy On The Death Of A Mad Dog And In That Town A Dog Was Found, As Many Dogs There Be, Both Mongrel, Puppy, Whelp, And Hound, And Curs Of Low Degree.

No Vernal Blooms Their Torpid Rocks Array, But Winter Lingering Chills The Lap Of May; No Zephyr Fondly Sues The Mountain's Breast, But Meteors Glare, And Stormy Glooms Invest.

Books Are Necessary To Correct The Vices Of The Polite; But Those Vices Are Ever Changing, And The Antidote Should Be Changed Accordingly Should Still Be New.

If We Do Not Find Happiness In The Present Moment, In What Shall We Find It?

The Very Pink Of Perfection.