Who Climbs The Grammar-tree, Distinctly Knows Where

Truth Is The Foundation Of All Knowledge And The Cement Of All Societies.

A Satirical Poet Is The Check Of The Laymen On Bad Priests.

Be Fair, Or Foul, Or Rain, Or Shine, The Joys I Have Possessed, In Spite Of Fate, Are Mine. Not Heaven Itself Upon The Past Has Power; But What Has Been, Has Been, And I Have Had My Hour.

The Perverseness Of My Fate Is Such That He's Not Mine Because He's Mine Too Much.

But Shakespeare's Magic Could Not Copied Be; Within That Circle None Durst Walk But He.