God'll Send The Bill To You.

The Wisest Man Could Ask No More Of Fate Than To Be Simple, Modest, Manly, True, Safe From The Many, Honored By The Few; Nothing To Court In Church, Or World, Or State, But Inwardly In Secret To Be Great.

In The Gain Or Loss Of One Race All The Rest Have Equal Claim.

This Goin' Ware Glory Waits Ye Haint One Agreeable Feetur.

The Material Of Thought Re-acts Upon The Thought Itself.

Life Seems A Jest Of Fate's Contriving.