The pen is the tongue of the mind.
Modesty, tis a virtue not often found among poets, for almost every one of them thinks himself the greatest in the world.
The pen is the language of the soul; as the concepts that in it are generated, such will be its writings.
I am almost frightened out of my seven senses.
He preaches well that lives well
There were no embraces, because where there is great love there is often little display of it.