Success Hath Made Me Wanton.

Who Falls For Love Of God, Shall Rise A Star.

Give Me A Look, Give Me A Face, That Makes Simplicity A Grace Robes Loosely Flowing, Hair As Free Such Sweet Neglect More Taketh Me Than All The Adulteries Of Art: They Strike Mine Eyes, But Not My Heart.

A Lily Of A Day Is Fairer Far In May, Although It Fall And Die That Night, It Was The Plant And Flower Of Light. In Small Proportions We Just Beauties See, And In Short Measures Life May Perfect Be.

True Melancholy Breeds Your Perfect Fine Wit.

A Prince Without Letters Is A Pilot Without Eyes. All His Government Is Groping.