As One That Neither Seeks, Nor Shuns

Dreams Are But Interludes That Fancy Makes... Sometimes Forgotten Things, Long Cast Behind Rush Forward In The Brain, And Come To Mind.

Satire Is A Kind Of Poetry In Which Human Vices Are Reprehended.

But When To Sin Our Biased Nature Leans, The Careful Devil Is Still At Hand With Means; And Providently Pimps For Ill Desires.

Kings Fight For Empires, Madmen For Applause.

To Tame The Proud, The Fetter'd Slave To Free, These Are Imperial Arts.