Life... Is A Paradise To What We

My Free Drift Halts Not Particularly, But Moves Itself In A Wide Sea Of Wax; No Levelled Malice Infects One Comma In The Course I Hold, But Flies An Eagle Flight, Bold And Forth On, Leaving No Tract Behind.

Plenty And Peace Breed Cowards; Hardness Ever Of Hardiness Is Mother.

Do Not For One Repulse, Forego The Purpose That You Resolved To Effect.

They May Seize On The White Wonder Of Dear Juliet's Hand And Steal Immortal Blessing From Her Lips, Who, Even In Pure And Vestal Modesty, Still Blush, As Thinking Their Own Kisses Sin.

I Cannot Draw A Cart, Nor Eat Dried Oats; If It Be Man's Work, I'll Do't.