He That Has A House To Put's

Beauty Lives With Kindness.

Every Inordinate Cup Is Unbless'd, And The Ingredient Is A Devil.

Et Tu Brute! (you Too, Brutus!)

Truth Needs No Color; Beauty, No Pencil.

For Now I Stand As One Upon A Rock Environed With A Wilderness Of Sea, Who Marks The Waxing Tide Grow Wave By Wave, Expecting Ever When Some Envious Surge Will In His Brinish Bowels Swallow Him.