Virtue's Office Never Breaks Men's Troth.

And So, From Hour To Hour, We Ripe And Ripe. And Then, From Hour To Hour, We Rot And Rot; And Thereby Hangs A Tale.

I Am Sure Care's An Enemy To Life.

Man, Proud Man, Drest In A Little Brief Authority, Most Ignorant Of What He's Most Assured.

O World, How Apt The Poor Are To Be Proud!

Reflection Is The Business Of Man; A Sense Of His State Is His First Duty: But Who Remembereth Himself In Joy? Is It Not In Mercy Then That Sorrow Is Allotted Unto Us?