As The Twig Is Bent, So Grows

Woman's At Best A Contradiction Still.

In Pride, In Reas'ning Pride, Our Error Lies; All Quit Their Sphere And Rush Into The Skies. Pride Still Is Aiming At The Bless'd Abodes, Men Would Be Angels, Angels Would Be Gods.

Beauties In Vain Their Pretty Eyes May Roll; Charms Strike The Sight, But Merit Wins The Soul.

He Who Serves His Brother Best Gets Nearer God Than All The Rest.

At Every Trifle Take Offense, That Always Shows Great Pride Or Little Sense.