Give Thy Thoughts No Tongue.

I'll Have No Husband, If You Be Not He.

He Draweth Out The Thread Of His Verbosity Finer Than The Staple Of His Argument.

The Breach Of Custom Is Breach Of All.

Do Not, As Some Ungracious Pastors Do, Show Me The Steep And Thorny Way To Heaven; Whilst, Like A Puff'd And Reckless Libertine, Himself The Primrose Path Of Dalliance Treads And Recks Not His Own Read.

So Doth The Greater Glory Dim The Less: A Substitute Shines Brightly As A King Until A King Be By.