Faithful Found Among The Faithless.

Now Came Still Evening On; And Twilight Gray Had In Her Sober Livery All Things Clad: Silence Accompanied; For Beast And Bird, They To They Grassy Couch, These To Their Nests, Were Slunk, All But The Wakeful Nightingale.

Let None Admire That Riches Grow In Hell; That Soil May Best Deserve The Precious Bane.

Wisdom's Self Oft Seeks To Sweet Retired Solitude, Where With Her Best Nurse Contemplation, She Plumes Her Feathers, And Lets Grow Her Wings That In The Various Bustle Of Resort Were All To-ruffled, And Sometimes Impaired.

Fame Is The Last Infirmity Of The Human Mind.

He Who Destroys A Good Book Kills Reason Itself.