Here pity only lives when it is dead - Virgil
Curb your talent lest it speed where virtue does not guide.
No sadness is greater than in misery to rehearse memories of joy.
In judgement be ye not too confident, Even as a man who will appraise his corn When standing in a field, ere it is ripe.
Heat cannot be separated from fire, or beauty from The Eternal.
Many have justice in their hearts, but slowly it is let fly, for it comes not without council to the bow.