Words Are But Pictures Of Our Thoughts.

I Have A Soul That Like An Ample Shield Can Take In All, And Verge Enough For More.

Virgil Is So Exact In Every Word, That None Can Be Changed But For A Worse; Nor Any One Removed From Its Place, But The Harmony Will Be Altered. He Pretends Sometimes To Trip; But It Is Only To Make You Think Him In Danger Of A Fall, When He Is Most Secure.

For Every Inch That Is Not Fool, Is Rogue.

A Narrow Mind Begets Obstinacy; We Do Not Easily Believe What We Cannot See.

Good Heaven, Whose Darling Attribute We Find Is Boundless Grace, And Mercy To Mankind, Abhors The Cruel.