None Is So Wise, But The Foole

Prosperity Lets Goe The Bridle.

True Beauty Dwells On High: Ours Is A Flame But Borrowed Thence To Light Us Thither. Beauty And Beauteous Words Should Go Together.

Grief Melts Away Like Snow In May, As If There Were No Such Cold Thing.

The Chiefe Boxe Of Health Is Time.

For Want Of A Naile The Shoe Is Lost, For Want Of A Shoe The Horse Is Lost, For Want Of A Horse The Rider Is Lost.