To Unpathed Waters, Undreamed Shores.

What Early Tongue So Sweet Saluteth Me?

Affliction May One Day Smile Again; And Till Then, Sit Thee Down, Sorrow!.

Men At Some Time Are Masters Of Their Fates. The Fault, Dear Brutus, Is Not In Our Stars, But In Ourselves, That We Are Underlings.

Then Happy I That Love And Am Beloved, Where I May Not Remove Nor Be Removed.

Men From Children Nothing Differ.