For She Doth Make My Veins And

O Conscience, Upright And Stainless, How Bitter A Sting To Thee Is A Little Fault!

No Sorrow Is Deeper Than The Remembrance Of Happiness When In Misery.

Follow Your Own Star!

Be As A Tower Firmly Set; Shakes Not Its Top For Any Blast That Blows.

O Power Of Fantasy That Steals Our Minds From Things Outside, To Leave Us Unaware, Although A Thousand Trumpets May Blow Loud--what Stirs You If The Senses Show You Nothing? Light Stirs You, Formed In Heaven, By Itself, Or By His Will Who Sends It Down To Us.