Pride is still aiming at the best houses: Men would be angels, angels would be gods. Aspiring to be gods, if angels fell; aspiring to be angels men rebel.

Avoid Extremes; and shun the fault of such Who still are pleas'd too little or too much.

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

Aurora now, fair daughter of the dawn, Sprinkled with rosy light the dewy lawn.

And die of nothing but a rage to live.

Lulled in the countless chambers of the brain, our thoughts are linked by many a hidden chain; awake but one, and in, what myriads rise!

A brain of feathers, and a heart of lead.