For Forms Of Faith Let Graceless Zealots

Dear Fatal Name! Rest Ever Unreveal'd, Nor Pass These Lips In Holy Silence Seal'd. Hide It, My Heart, Within That Close Disguise, Where Mixed With Gods, His Lov'd Idea Lies: O Write It Not, My Hand - The Name Appears Already Written - Wash It Out, My Tears! In Vain Lost Eloisa Weeps And Prays, Her Heart Still Dictates, And Her Hand Obeyes.

Women, As They Are Like Riddles In Being Unintelligible, So Generally Resemble Them In This, That They Please Us No Longer Once We Know Them.

Of Manners Gentle, Of Affections Mild; In Wit A Man; Simplicity, A Child.

A Field Of Glory Is A Field For All.

What Is It To Be Wise? 'tis But To Know How Little Can Be Known, To See All Others' Faults, And Feel Our Own.