Time Ripens All Things; No

Modesty, Tis A Virtue Not Often Found Among Poets, For Almost Every One Of Them Thinks Himself The Greatest In The World.

He Who Reforms, God Assists.

Inasmuch As Ill-deeds Spring Up As A Spontaneous Crop, They Are Easy To Learn.

'tis Said Of Love That It Sometimes Goes, Sometimes Flies; Runs With One, Walks Gravely With Another; Turns A Third Into Ice, And Sets A Fourth In A Flame: It Wounds One, Another It Kills: Like Lightning It Begins And Ends In The Same Moment: It Makes That Fort Yield At Night Which It Besieged But In The Morning; For There Is No Force Able To Resist It.

Be Slow Of Tongue And Quick Of Eye.