He Who Destroys A Good Book Kills

A Short Retirement Urges A Sweet Return.

Meadows Trim With Daisies Pied, Shallow Brooks And Rivers Wide Towers And Battlements It Sees Bosom'd High In Tufted Trees, Where Perhaps Some Beauty Lies, The Cynosure Of Neighboring Eyes.

If We Think We Regulate Printing, Thereby To Rectify Manners, We Must Regulate All Regulations And Pastimes, All That Is Delightful To Man.

The Brazen Throat Of War.

And On The Tree Of Life, The Middle Tree And Highest There That Grew, Sat Like A Cormorant.