He Is A Perpetual Fountain Of Good

Our Souls Sit Close And Silently Within, And Their Own Web From Their Own Entrails Spin; And When Eyes Meet Far Off, Our Sense Is Such, That, Spider-like, We Feel The Tenderest Touch.

Ill News Is Wing'd With Fate, And Flies Apace.

Fortune, That With Malicious Joydoes Man Her Slave Oppress,proud Of Her Office To Destroy,is Seldom Pleasd To Bless.

A Happy Genius Is The Gift Of Nature.

Love Either Finds Equality Or Makes It.