He that hath love in his brest, hath spurres in his sides.
Only a sweet and virtuous soul, like seasoned timber, never gives.
Science stands, a too competant servant, behind her wrangling underbred masters, holding out resources, devices, and remedies they are too stupid to use. ... And on its material side, a modern Utopia must needs present these gifts as taken.
Hast comes not alone.
God complaines not, but doth what is fitting.
No Alchymy to saving.