A dead Bee maketh no Hony.
Only a sweet and virtuous soul, like seasoned timber, never gives.
To deceive ones selfe is very easie.
Hee that will deceive the fox, must rise betimes.
If we can possibly avoid wrecking this little planet of ours, we will, But-there must be risks! There must be. In experimental work there always are!
Exalted Manna, gladness of the best, Heaven in ordinary, man well drest.