Sin, That Amends, Is But Patched With

We Are Time's Subjects, And Time Bids Be Gone.

Love's Heralds Should Be Thoughts, Which Ten Times Faster Glide Than The Sun's Beams Driving Back Shadows Over Low'ring Hills. Therefore Do Nimble-pinioned Doves Draw Love, And Therefore Hath The Wind-swift Cupid Wings.

Your Wisdom Is Consum'd In Confidence. Do Not Go Forth To-day.

If I Lose My Honor, I Lose Myself: Better I Were Not Yours Than Yours So Branchless.

The Error Of Our Eye Directs Our Mind. What Error Leads Must Err.