Few Things Are Impossible To Diligence And

Yet Reason Frowns In War's Unequal Game, Where Wasted Nations Raise A Single Name; And Mortgag'd States Their Grandsire's Wreaths Regret, From Age To Age In Everlasting Debt; Wreaths Which At Last The Dear-bought Right Convey To Rust On Medals, Or On Stones Decay.

Books, Says Lord Bacon, Can Never Teach Us The Use Of Books; The Student Must Learn By Commerce With Mankind To Reduce His Speculations To Practice. No Man Should Think So Highly Of Himself As To Think He Can Receive But Little Light From Books; No One So Meanly, As To Believe He Can Discover Nothing But What Is To Be Learned From Them.

Enlarge My Life With Multitude Of Days, In Health, In Sickness, Thus The Suppliant Prays; Hides From Himself His State, And Shuns To Know, That Life Protracted Is Protracted Woe. Time Hovers O'er, Impatient To Destroy, And Shuts Up All The Passages Of Joy.

You Despise A Man For Avarice; But You Do Not Hate Him.

Bias And Impartiality Is In The Eye Of The Beholder.