How Imperfect Is All Our

No Spring Nor Summer Beauty Hath Such Grace As I Have Seen In One Autumnal Face.

He That Desires To Print A Book, Should Much More Desire, To Be A Book.

Full Nakedness! All My Joys Are Due To Thee, As Souls Unbodied, Bodies Unclothed Must Be, To Taste Whole Joys.

At The Round Earth's Imagined Corners, Blow Your Trumpets, Angels.

And If There Be Any Addition To Knowledge, It Is Rather A New Knowledge Than A Greater Knowledge; Rather A Singularity In A Desire Of Proposing Something That Was Not Knownat All Beforethananimproving, Anadvancing, A Multiplying Of Former Inceptions; And By That Means, No Knowledge Comes To Be Perfect.