What Sweet Delight A Quiet Life Affords.

He Who Dares Not (reason), Is A Slave.

So That My Life Be Brave, What Though Not Long?

What Sweet Delight A Quiet Life Affords.

Books Have That Strange Quality, That Being Of The Frailest And Tenderest Matter, They Outlast Brass, Iron And Marble.

Thrice Happy He, Who By Some Shady Grove, Far From The Clamorous World; Doth Live His Own; Though Solitary, Who Is Not Alone, But Doth Converse With That Eternal Love.