As One That Neither Seeks, Nor Shuns

Seas Are The Fields Of Combat For The Winds; But When They Sweep Along Some Flowery Coast, Their Wings Move Mildly, And Their Rage Is Lost.

We First Make Our Habits, And Then Our Habits Make Us.

All Empire Is No More Than Power In Trust.

Pity Only On Fresh Objects Stays, But With The Tedious Sight Of Woes Decays.

Much Malice Mingled With A Little Wit Perhaps May Censure This Mysterious Writ.