A work of art that contains theories is like an object on which the price tag has been left.

The lamb thy riot dooms to bleed today, Had he thy reason, would he skip and play? Pleas'd to the last he crops the flow'ry food, And licks the hand just rais'd to shed his blood.

Honor and shame from no condition rise. Act well your part: there all the honor lies.

Fickle Fortune reigns, and, undiscerning, scatters crowns and chains.

Extremes in nature equal ends produce; In man they join to some mysterious use.

Oh, blindness to the future! kindly giv'n, That each may fill the circle mark'd by heaven.

Blessed is the man who expects nothing, for he shall never be disappointed was the ninth beatitude.