Dreams are rough copies of the waking soul Yet uncorrected of the higher will, So that men sometimes in their dreams confess An unsuspected, or forgotten, self; -Since Dreaming, Madness, Passion, are akin In missing each that salutory rein Of reason, and the grinding will of man.

A friar who asks alms for God's sake begs for two.

The heart is an astrologer that always divines the truth.

These flowers, which were splendid and sprightly, waking in the dawn of the morning, in the evening will be a pitiful frivolity, sleeping in the cold night's arms.

Green is the prime color of the world, and that from which its loveliness arises.

All must yield to the weight of years; conquest is not difficult for time.

Tis not where we lie but whence we fell; the loss of Heaven's the greatest pain in Hell.