To Struggle When Hope Is

A Prince Without Letters Is A Pilot Without Eyes. All His Government Is Groping.

A Good Life Is A Main Argument.

Wine It Is The Milk Of Venus, And The Poet's Horse Accounted: Ply It And You All Are Mounted.

Where Dost Thou Careless Lie, Buried In Ease And Sloth? Knowledge That Sleeps, Doth Die; And This Security, It Is The Common Moth, That Eats On Wits And Arts, And Oft Destroys Them Both.

Cut Men's Throats With Whisperings.