You Lack The Season Of

He Uses His Folly Like A Stalking-horse, And Under The Presentation Of That He Shoots His Wit.

Thou Canst Not Speak Of What Thou Dost Not Feel.

In The Modesty Of Fearful Duty, I Read As Much As From The Rattling Tongue Of Saucy And Audacious Eloquence.

Men At Sometime Are The Masters Of Their Fate.

The Poet's Eye, In A Fine Frenzy Rolling, Doth Glance From Heaven To Earth, From Earth To Heaven.