Time May Restore Us In

Sanity -- That Is The Great Virtue Of The Ancient Literature; The Want Of That Is The Great Defect Of The Modern, In Spite Of Its Variety And Power.

Because Thou Must Not Dream, Thou Need Not Despair.

Youth Dreams A Bliss On This Side Of Death. It Dreams A Rest, If Not More Deep, More Grateful Than This Marble Sleep; It Hears A Voice Within It Tell: Calm's Not Life's Crown, Though Calm Is Well. 'tis All Perhaps Which Man Acquires, But 'tis Not What Our Youth Desires.

Fortime, Not Corydon, Hath Conquered Thee.

Use Your Gifts Faithfully, And They Shall Be Enlarged; Practice What You Know, And You Shall Attain To Higher Knowledge.