Silence In Woman Is Like Speech In

The Poet Is The Nearest Borderer Upon The Orator.

I Have No Urns, No Dusty Monuments; No Broken Images Of Ancestors, Wanting An Ear, Or Nose; No Forged Tales Of Long Descents, To Boast False Honors From.

A Good Man Should And Must Sit Rather Down With Loss Than Rise Unjust.

Folly Often Goes Beyond Her Bounds, But Impudence Knows None.

I Know No Disease Of The Soul But Ignorance, A Pernicious Evil, The Darkener Of Man's Life, The Disturber Of His Reason, And Common Confounder Of Truth.