By Such Innovations Are Languages Enriched, When

'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.

All Is Not Gold That Glisters.

The Very Remembrance Of My Former Misfortune Proves A New One To Me.

Blessings On Him, Who Invented Sleep.

The Pen Is The Language Of The Soul; As The Concepts That In It Are Generated, Such Will Be Its Writings.