The Well Of True Wit Is Truth

The Well Of True Wit Is Truth Itself.

Sunrays, Leaning On Our Southern Hills And Lighting Wild Cloud-mountains That Drag The Hills Along, Oft Ends The Day Of Your Shifting Brilliant Laughter Chill As A Dull Face Frowning On A Song. Ay, But Shows The South-west A Ripple-feathered Bosom Blown To Silver While The Clouds Are Shaken And Ascend Scaling The Mid-heavens As They Stream, There Comes A Sunset Rich, Deep Like Love In Beauty Without End.

O Have A Care Of Natures That Are Mute!

Much Benevolence Of The Passive Order May Be Traced To A Disinclination To Inflict Pain Upon Oneself.

Kissing Don't Last: Cookery Do!