Perfection Is The Child Of Time.

I Account This Body Nothing But A Close Prison To My Soul; And The Earth A Larger Prison To My Body. I May Not Break Prison Till I Be Loosed By Death; But I Will Leave It, Not Unwillingly,when I Am Loosed.

Those Who Give Not Till They Die Show That They Would Not Then If They Could Keep It Any Longer.

How Easy It Is For Men To Be Swollen With Admiration Of Their Own Strength And Glory, And To Be Lifted Up So High As To Lose Sight Both Of The Ground Whence They Rose, And The Hand That Advanced Them.

It Is A Shame For The Tongue To Cast Itself Upon The Uncertain Pardon Of Other's Ears

He Is A Very Humble Man, That Thinks Not Himself Better Than Some Others.