Most Women Have No Characters At All.

All Nature Is But Art Unknown To Thee.

Oft, As In Airy Rings They Skim The Heath, The Clamtrous Lapwings Feel The Leaden Death; Oft, As The Mounting Larks Their Notes Prepare They Fall, And Leave Their Little Lives In Air.

When I Die, I Should Be Ashamed To Leave Enough To Build Me A Monument If There Were A Wanting Friend Above Ground. I Would Enjoy The Pleasure Of What I Give By Giving It Alive And Seeing Another Enjoy It.

Whatever Is, Is Right.

Know Then Thyself, Presume Not God To Scan; The Proper Study Of Mankind Is Man.