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Fine Sense And Exalted Sense Are Not Half So Useful As Common Sense. There Are Forty Men Of Wit For One Man Of Sense; And He That Will Carry Nothing About Him But Gold, Will Be Every Day At A Loss For Want Of Readier Change.

-Alexander Pope

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Fine Sense And Exalted

Alexander Pope

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Fine Sense And Exalted Sense Are Not Half So Useful As Common Sense. There Are Forty Men Of Wit For One Man Of Sense; And He That Will Carry Nothing About Him But Gold, Will Be Every Day At A Loss For Want Of Readier Change.

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Dear, Damned, Distracting Town, Farewell! Thy Fools No More I'll Tease: This Year In Peace, Ye Critics, Dwell, Ye Harlots, Sleep At Ease!

In Adamantine Chains Shall Death Be Bound, And Hell's Grim Tyrant Feel Th' Eternal Wound.

Simplicity Is The Mean Between Ostentation And Rusticity.

There Is But One Way I Know Of Conversing Safely With All Men; That Is, Not By Concealing What We Say Or Do, But By Saying Or Doing Nothing That Deserves To Be Concealed.

Avoid Extremes; And Shun The Fault Of Such Who Still Are Pleas'd Too Little Or Too Much.

A Little Learning Is A Dangerous Thing.

At Present We Can Only Reason Of The Divine Justice From What We Know Of Justice In Man. When We Are In Other Scenes, We May Have Truer And Nobler Ideas Of It; But While We Are In This Life, We Can Only Speak From The Volume That Is Laid Open Before Us.

Fools Admire, But Men Of Sense Approve.

Is Not Absence Death To Those Who Love?

Saying Good Bye

A Wit With Dunces, And A Dunce With Wits.

A Field Of Glory Is A Field For All.

Judge Not Of Actions By Their Mere Effect; Dive To The Center, And The Cause Detect. Great Deeds From Meanest Springs May Take Their Course, And Smallest Virtues From A Mighty Source.

And Seem To Walk On Wings, And Tread In Air.

Who Dare To Love Their Country, And Be Poor.

The Lights And Shades, Whose Well-accorded Strife Gives All The Strength And Color Of Our Life.

All Other Goods By Fortune's Hand Are Given, A Wife Is The Peculiar Gift Of Heaven.

He Knows To Live Who Keeps The Middle State, And Neither Leans On This Side Nor On That.

A Good-natured Man Has The Whole World To Be Happy Out Of.

Reason, However Able, Cool At Best, Cares Not For Service, Or But Serves When Prest, Stays Till We Call, And Then Not Often Near.

The Soul's Calm Sunshine, And The Heartfelt Joy.

Of Fight Or Fly, This Choice Is Left Ye, To Resist Or Die.

Some To Conceit Alone Their Taste Confine, And Glittering Thoughts Struck Out At Ev'ry Line; Pleas'd With A Work Where Nothing's Just Or Fit; One Glaring Chaos And Wild Heap Of Wit.

Two Women Seldom Grow Intimate But At The Expense Of A Third Person; They Make Friendships As Kings Of Old Made Leagues, Who Sacrificed Some Poor Animal Betwixt Them, And Commenced Strict Allies; So The Ladies, After They Have Pulled Some Character To Pieces, Are From Henceforth Inviolable Friends.

Envy, To Which Th' Ignoble Mind's A Slave, Is Emulation In The Learn'd Or Brave.

Lo, What Huge Heaps Of Littleness Around!

E'en Sunday Shines No Sabbath Day To Me.

Judges And Senates Have Been Bought For Gold; Esteem And Love Were Never To Be Sold.

Sure Of Their Qualities And Demanding Praise, More Go To Ruined Fortunes Than Are Raised.

In Vain Sedate Reflections We Would Make When Half Our Knowledge We Must Snatch, Not Take.

Virtue Alone Is Happiness Below.

For Forms Of Faith Let Graceless Zealots Fight; His Can't Be Wrong Whose Life Is In The Right.

Tis All In Vain To Keep A Constant Pother About One Vice And Fall Into Another.

All Looks Yellow To A Jaundiced Eye.

Leave Not A Foot Of Verse, A Foot Of Stone, A Page, A Grave, That They Can Call Their Own; But Spread, My Sons, Your Glory Thin Or Thick, On Passive Paper, Or On Solid Brick.

A Saint In Crape Is Twice A Saint In Lawn.

There Various News I Heard Of Love And Strife,of Peace And War, Health, Sickness, Death, And Life,of Loss And Gain, Of Famine And Of Store,of Storms At Sea, And Travels On The Shore,of Prodigies, And Portents Seen In Air,of Fires And Plagues, And Stars With Blazing Hair,of Turns Of Fortune, Changes In The State,the Fall Of Favourites, Projects Of The Great,of Aid Mismanagements, Taxations New:all Neither Wholly False, Nor Wholly True.

While Man Exclaims, "see All Things For My Use!" "see Man For Mine!" Replies A Pamper'd Goose.

And More Than Echoes Talk Along The Walls.

A Patriot Is A Fool In Ev'ry Age.

On Life's Vast Ocean Diversely We Sail, Reason The Card, But Passion Is The Gale; Nor God Alone In The Still Calm We Find, He Mounts The Storm, And Walks Upon The Wind.

It Is Not So Much The Being Exempt From Faults, As Having Overcome Them, That Is An Advantage To Us.

He Who Serves His Brother Best Gets Nearer God Than All The Rest.

How Happy Is The Blameless Vestal's Lot? The World Forgetting, By The World Forgot.

Genius Creates, And Taste Preserves. Taste Is The Good Sense Of Genius; Without Taste, Genius Is Only Sublime Folly.

Do Good By Stealth, And Blush To Find It Fame.

I Never Knew Any Man In My Life Who Could Not Bear Another's Misfortunes Perfectly Like A Christian.

A Brave Man Struggling In The Storms Of Fate, And Greatly Falling With A Falling State.

The Lamb Thy Riot Dooms To Bleed Today, Had He Thy Reason, Would He Skip And Play? Pleas'd To The Last He Crops The Flow'ry Food, And Licks The Hand Just Rais'd To Shed His Blood.

New, Distant Scenes Of Endless Science Rise: So Pleas'd At First, The Towring Alps We Try.

By Flatterers Besieged And So Obliging That He Ne'er Obliged.

Then Marble, Soften'd Into Life, Grew Warm.

But Thousands Die Without Or This Or That, Die, And Endow A College Or A Cat.

To Endeavor To Work Upon The Vulgar With Fine Sense Is Like Attempting To Hew Blocks With A Razor.

Monuments, Like Men, Submit To Fate.

What Is Fame? A Fancied Life In Others' Breath.

Some Are Bewildered In The Maze Of Schools, And Some Made Coxcombs Nature Meant But Fools.

Old Men, For The Most Part, Are Like Old Chronicles That Give You Dull But True Accounts Of Times Past, And Are Worth Knowing Only On That Score.

Thus God And Nature Linked The Gen'ral Frame, And Bade Self-love And Social Be The Same.

When We Are Young, We Are Slavishly Employed In Procuring Something Whereby We May Live Comfortably When We Grow Old; And When We Are Old, We Perceive It Is Too Late To Live As We Proposed.

A Long, Exact, And Serious Comedy; In Every Scene Some Moral Let It Teach, And, If It Can, At Once Both Please And Preach.

Hills Peep O'er Hills, And Alps On Alps Arise.

Self-love, The Spring Of Motion, Acts The Soul; Reason's Comparing Balance Rules The Whole. Man, But For That No Action Could Attend, And, But For This, Were Active To No End: Fix'd Like A Plant On His Peculiar Spot, To Draw Nutrition, Propagate, And Rot; Or, Meteor-like, Flame Lawless Thro' The Void, Destroying Others, By Himself Destroy'd.

The Spider's Touch, How Exquisitely Fine! Feels At Each Thread, And Lives Along The Line.

Like Cato, Give His Little Senate Laws, And Sit Attentive To His Own Applause.

Be Not The First By Whom The New Are Tried, Nor Yet The Last To Lay The Old Aside.

What Nothing Earthly Gives, Or Can Destroy, The Soul's Calm Sunshine, And The Heart-felt Joy, Is Virtue's Prize.

What Dire Offence From Am'rous Causes Springs, What Mighty Contests Rise From Trivial Things.

Awake, My St. John! Leave All Meaner Things To Low Ambition And The Pride Of Kings. Let Us (since Life Can Little More Supply Than Just To Look About Us, And To Die) Expatiate Free O'er All This Scene Of Man; A Mighty Maze! But Not Without A Plan.

What Riches Give Us Let Us Then Inquire: Meat, Fire, And Clothes. What More? Meat, Clothes, And Fire. Is This Too Little?

The Approach Of Night The Skies Yet Blushing With Departing Light, When Falling Dews With Spangles Deck'd The Glade, And The Low Sun Had Lengthen'd Ev'ry Shade.

With Too Much Quickness Ever To Be Taught; With Too Much Thinking To Have Common Thought.

A Perfect Judge Will Read Each Word Of Wit With The Same Spirit That Its Author Writ.

Aurora Now, Fair Daughter Of The Dawn, Sprinkled With Rosy Light The Dewy Lawn.

The Good Must Merit God's Peculiar Care; But Who But God Can Tell Us Who They Are?

Who Are Next To Knaves? Those That Converse With Them.

For Forms Of Government Let Fools Contest; Whate'er Is Best Administer'd Is Best. For Modes Of Faith Let Graceless Zealots Fight; His Can't Be Wrong Whose Life Is In The Right. In Faith And Hope The World Will Disagree, But All Mankind's Concern Is Charity.

Our Passions Are Like Convulsion Fits, Which, Though They Make Us Stronger For A Time, Leave Us The Weaker Ever After.

When I Die, I Should Be Ashamed To Leave Enough To Build Me A Monument If There Were A Wanting Friend Above Ground. I Would Enjoy The Pleasure Of What I Give By Giving It Alive And Seeing Another Enjoy It.

We May See The Small Value God Has For Riches, By The People He Gives Them To.

Is There No Bright Reversion In The Sky, For Those Who Greatly Think Or Bravely Die?

For I, Who Hold Sage Homer's Rule The Best, Welcome The Coming, Speed The Going Guest.

When Much Dispute Has Past, We Find Our Tenets Just The Same As Last.

The Zeal Of Fools Offends At Any Time.

True Ease In Writing Comes From Art, Not Chance, As Those Move Easiest Who Have Learned To Dance.

Why Did I Write? What Sin To Me Unknown Dipped Me In Ink, My Parents , Or My Own?

All Looks Yellow To A Jaundiced Eye That Habitually Compares Everything To Something Better. But By Changing That Habit To Comparing Everything To Something Worse, Even Making It A Game, That Person Can Find Gratitude, Relief And Happiness Where-ever They Go And Whatever They Experience, Guaranteed!

A King May Be A Tool, A Thing Of Straw; But If He Serves To Frighten Our Enemies, And Secure Our Property, It Is Well Enough; A Scarecrow Is A Thing Of Straw, But It Protects The Corn.

The Cabinets Of The Sick And The Closets Of The Dead Have Been Ransacked To Publish Private Letters And Divulge To All Mankind The Most Secret Sentiments Of Friendship.

Some Judge Of Authors' Names, Not Works, And Then Nor Praise Nor Blame The Writings, But The Men.

And You, My Critics! In The Chequer'd Shade, Admire New Light Thro' Holes Yourselves Have Made.

In Various Talk Th' Instructive Hours They Past, Who Gave The Ball, Or Paid The Visit Last; One Speaks The Glory Of The British Queen, And One Describes A Charming Indian Screen; A Third Interprets Motions, Looks, And Eyes; At Every Word A Reputation Dies.

When To The Permanent Is Sacrificed The Mutable, The Prize Is Thine: The Drop Returneth Whence It Came. The Open Path Leads To The Changeless Change - Non-being, The Glorious State Of Absoluteness, The Bliss Past Human Thought.

Ask You What Provocation I Have Had? The Strong Antipathy Of Good To Bad.

Here Thou, Great Anna! Whom Three Realms Obey, / Dost Sometimes Counsel Take—and Sometimes Tea.

Genius Creates, And Taste Preserves.

To Balance Fortune By A Just Expense, Join With Economy, Magnificence.

Pleased To The Last, He Crops The Flowery Food, And Licks The Hand Just Raised To Shed His Blood.

The Mouse That Always Trusts To One Poor Hole Can Never Be A Mouse Of Any Soul.

Whate'er The Passion, Knowledge, Fame, Or Pelf, Not One Will Change His Neighbor With Himself.

A Perfect Woman's But A Softer Man.

Eye Nature's Walks, Shoot Folly As It Flies, And Catch The Manners Living As They Rise; Laugh Where We Must, Be Candid Where We Can, But Vindicate The Ways Of God To Man.

The Light Of Heaven Restore; Give Me To See, And Ajax Asks No More.

On Wings Of Wind Came Flying All Abroad.

Our Grandsire, Adam, Ere Of Eve Possesst, Alone, And E'en In Paradise Unblest, With Mournful Looks The Blissful Scenes Survey'd, And Wander'd In The Solitary Shade. The Maker Say, Took Pity, And Bestow'd Woman, The Last, The Best Reserv'd Of God.

Love, Hope, And Joy, Fair Pleasure's Smiling Train, Hate, Fear, And Grief, The Family Of Pain, These Mix'd With Art, And To Due Bounds Confin'd Make And Maintain The Balance Of The Mind.

A Family Is But Too Often A Commonwealth Of Malignants.

On Life's Vast Ocean Diversely We Sail. Reasons The Card, But Passion The Gale.

What Conscience Dictates To Be Done, Or Warns Me Not To Do; This Teach Me More Than Hell To Shun, That More Than Heav'n Pursue.

Music The Fiercest Grief Can Charm, And Fate's Severest Rage Disarm. Music Can Soften Pain To Ease, And Make Despair And Madness Please; Our Joys Below It Can Improve, And Antedate The Bliss Above.

The Pure And Noble, The Graceful And Dignified, Simplicity Of Language Is Nowhere In Such Perfection As In The Scriptures And Homer. The Whole Book Of Job, With Regard Both To Sublimity Of Thought And Morality, Exceeds, Beyond All Comparison, The Most Noble Parts Of Homer.

Ladies, Like Variegated Tulips, Show 'tis To Their Changes Half Their Charms We Owe.

Do You Find Yourself Making Excuses When You Do Not Perform? Shed The Excuses And Face Reality. Excuses Are The Loser's Way Out. They Will Mar Your Credibility And Stunt Your Personal Growth.

Finding Yourself

Alas! The Small Discredit Of A Bribe Scarce Hurts The Lawyer, But Undoes The Scribe.

Who Finds Not Providence All Good And Wise, Alike In What It Gives, And What Denies.

The Soul, Uneasy And Confin'd From Home, Rests And Expatiates In A Life To Come.

I Think A Good Deal May Be Said To Extenuate The Fault Of Bad Poets. What We Call A Genius, Is Hard To Be Distinguish'd By A Man Himself, From A Strong Inclination: And If His Genius Be Ever So Great, He Can Not At First Discover It Any Other Way, Than By Giving Way To That Prevalent Propensity Which Renders Him The More Liable To Be Mistaken.

It Is Sure The Hardest Science To Forget!

To Teach Vain Wits That Science Little Known, T' Admire Superior Sense, And Doubt Their Own!

Th' Unwilling Gratitude Of Base Mankind!

The Man That Loves And Laughs Must Sure Do Well.

Not Always Actions Show The Man; We Find Who Does A Kindness Is Not Therefore Kind.

Love Seldom Haunts The Breast Where Learning Lies, And Venus Sets Ere Mercury Can Rise.

Placed On This Isthmus Of A Middle State.

And Empty Heads Console With Empty Sound.

Pride, Where Wit Fails, Steps In To Our Defence, And Fills Up All The Mighty Void Of Sense.

False Happiness Is Like False Money; It Passes For A Time As Well As The True, And Serves Some Ordinary Occasions; But When It Is Brought To The Touch, We Find The Lightness And Alloy, And Feel The Loss.

Oh! If To Dance All Night, And Dress All Day, Charm'd The Small-pox, Or Chas'd Old Age Away; . . . . To Patch, Nay Ogle, Might Become A Saint, Nor Could It Sure Be Such A Sin To Paint.

Order Is Heaven's First Law.

Virtuous And Vicious Every Man Must Be, Few In The Extreme, But All In The Degree.

So Vast Is Art, So Narrow Human Wit.

Know Then, Unnumber'd Spirits Round Thee Fly, The Light Militia Of The Lower Sky.

What Some Call Health, If Purchased By Perpetual Anxiety About Diet, Isn't Much Better Than Tedious Disease.

Oh, When Shall Britain, Conscious Of Her Claim, Stand Emulous Of Greek And Roman Fame? In Living Medals See Her Wars Enroll'd, And Vanquished Realms Supply Recording Gold?

Good God! How Often Are We To Die Before We Go Quite Off This Stage? In Every Friend We Lose A Part Of Ourselves, And The Best Part.

Woman's At Best A Contradiction Still.

Yes, I Am Proud; I Must Be Proud To See Men Not Afraid Of God, Afraid Of Me.

There Is No Study That Is Not Capable Of Delighting Us After A Little Application To It.

All Nature Is But Art, Unknown To Thee All Chance, Direction, Which Thou Canst Not See; All Discord, Harmony Not Understood; All Partial Evil, Universal Good.

In This Commonplace World Every One Is Said To Be Romantic Who Either Admires A Fine Thing Or Does One.

If It Be The Chief Point Of Friendship To Comply With A Friends Motions And Inclinations, He Possesses This In A Eminent Degree; He Lies Down When I Sit, And Walks When I Walk, Which Is More Than Many Good Friends Can Pretend To Do.

Thus Let Me Live, Unseen, Unknown, Thus Unlamented Let Me Die, Steal From The World, And Not A Stone Tell Where I Lie.

Then, At The Last And Only Couplet Fraught With Some Unmeaning Thing They Call A Thought, A Needless Alexandrine Ends The Song, That, Like A Wounded Snake, Drags Its Slow Length Along.

See Plastic Nature Working To This End, The Single Atoms Each To Other Tend, Attract, Attracted To, The Next In Place Form'd And Impell'd Its Neighbor To Embrace.

'tis Not Enough Your Counsel Still Be True; Blunt Truths More Mischief Than Nice Falsehoods Do.

I Am Satisfied To Trifle Away My Time, Rather Than Let It Stick By Me.

"with Ev'ry Pleasing, Ev'ry Prudent Part, Say, What Can Chloe Want?"-she Wants A Heart.

The Grave Unites; Where E'en The Great Find Rest, And Blended Lie Th' Oppressor And Th' Oppressed!

The Doubtful Beam Long Nods From Side To Side.

A Man Who Admires A Fine Woman, Has Yet Not More Reason To Wish Himself Her Husband, Than One Who Admired The Hesperian Fruit, Would Have Had To Wish Himself The Dragon That Kept It.

What So Pure, Which Envious Tongues Will Spare? Some Wicked Wits Have Libell'd All The Fair, With Matchless Impudence They Style A Wife, The Dear-bought Curse, And Lawful Plague Of Life; A Bosom Serpent, A Domestic Evil, A Night Invasion, And A Mid-day Devil; Let Not The Wise These Sland'rous Words Regard, But Curse The Bones Of Ev'ry Living Bard.

There Never Was Any Party, Faction, Sect, Or Cabal Whatsoever, In Which The Most Ignorant Were Not The Most Violent; For A Bee Is Not A Busier Animal Than A Blockhead.

Let Such Teach Others Who Themselves Excel, And Censure Freely Who Have Written Well.

Ten Censure Wrong For One Who Writes Amiss.

Talk What You Will Of Taste, My Friend, You'll Find Two Of A Face As Soon As Of A Mind.

Praise Undeserved, Is Satire In Disguise.

Consult The Genius Of The Place In All.

Die Of A Rose In Aromatic Pain.

To Be Angry Is To Revenge The Faults Of Others On Ourselves.

Is That A Birthday? 'tis, Alas! Too Clear; 'tis But The Funeral Of The Former Year.

The Vanity Of Human Life Is Like A River, Constantly Passing Away, And Yet Constantly Coming On.

To Happy Convents, Bosomed Deep In Vines, Where Slumber Abbots, Purple As Their Wines.

I Would Not Be Like Those Authors, Who Forgive Themselves Some Particular Lines For The Sake Of A Whole Poem, And Vice Versa A Whole Poem For The Sake Of Some Particular Lines. I Believe No One Qualification Is So Likely To Make A Good Writer, As The Power Of Rejecting His Own Thoughts.

Who Builds A Church To God And Not To Fame, Will Never Mark The Marble With His Name.

To Buy Books As Some Do Who Make No Use Of Them, Only Because They Were Published By An Eminent Printer, Is Much As If A Man Should Buy Clothes That Did Not Fit Him, Only Because They Were Made By Some Famous Tailor.

Fickle Fortune Reigns, And, Undiscerning, Scatters Crowns And Chains.

The Physician, By The Study And Inspection Of Urine And Ordure, Approves Himself In The Science; And In Like Sort Should Our Author Accustom And Exercise His Imagination Upon The Dregs Of Nature.

Here Hills And Vales, The Woodland And The Plain Here Earth And Water Seem To Strive Again, Not Chaos-like Together Crushed And Bruised, But, As The World, Harmoniously Confused: Where Order In Variety We See, And Where, Though All Things Differ, All Agree.

Love Finds An Altar For Forbidden Fires.

The Most Positive Men Are The Most Credulous, Since They Most Believe Themselves, And Advise Most With Their Falsest Flatterer And Worst Enemy--their Own Self-love.

Oh, Blindness To The Future! Kindly Giv'n, That Each May Fill The Circle Mark'd By Heaven.

Where Grows?--where Grows It Not? If Vain Our Toil, We Ought To Blame The Culture, Not The Soil.

How Shall I Lose The Sin, Yet Keep The Sense, And Love The Offender, Yet Detest The Offence?

Is It, In Heav'n, A Crime To Love Too Well? To Bear Too Tender Or Too Firm A Heart, To Act A Lover's Or A Roman's Part? Is There No Bright Reversion In The Sky For Those Who Greatly Think, Or Bravely Die?

Whatever Is, Is Right.

Still When The Lust Of Tyrant Power Succeeds, Some Athens Perishes, Or Some Tully Bleeds.

Satire Or Sense, Alas! Can Sporus Feel? Who Breaks A Butterfly Upon A Wheel?

Wit In Conversation Is Only A Readiness Of Thought And A Facility Of Expression, Or A Quick Conception And An Easy Delivery.

Good-nature And Good-sense Must Ever Join; To Err Is Human, To Forgive, Divine.

Hope Springs Eternal.

At Every Trifle Take Offense, That Always Shows Great Pride Or Little Sense.

For He Lives Twice Who Can At Once Employ, The Present Well, And E'en The Past Enjoy.

Time Management

No Creature Smarts So Little As A Fool.

But Those Who Cannot Write, And Those Who Can, All Rhyme, And Scrawl, And Scribble, To A Man.

Ah! What Avails It Me The Flocks To Keep, Who Lost My Heart While I Preserv'd My Sheep.

Court-virtues Bear, Like Gems, The Highest Rate, Born Where Heav'n Influence Scarce Can Penetrate. In Life's Low Vale, The Soil The Virtues Like, They Please As Beauties, Here As Wonders Strike.

Genuine Religion Is Not So Much A Matter Of Feeling As A Matter Of Principle.

Coffee Which Makes The Politician Wise, And See Through All Things With His Half-shut Eyes.

There Should Be, Methinks, As Little Merit In Loving A Woman For Her Beauty As In Loving A Man For His Prosperity; Both Being Equally Subject To Change.

Say, Will The Falcon, Stooping From Above, Smit With Her Varying Plumage, Spare The Dove? Admires The Jay The Insect's Gilded Wings? Or Hears The Hawk When Philomela Sings?

The Blest To-day Is As Completely So, As Who Began A Thousand Years Ago.

Rogues In Rags Are Kept In Countenance By Rogues In Ruffles.

A Tree Is A Nobler Object Than A Prince In His Coronation-robes.

He Who Tells A Lie Is Not Sensible Of How Great A Task He Undertakes; For He Must Be Forced To Invent Twenty More To Maintain That One.

Truths Would You Teach, Or Save A Sinking Land? All Fear, None Aid You, And Few Understand.

Learn To Live Well, Or Fairly Make Your Will; You've Play'd, And Lov'd, And Ate, And Drank Your Fill: Walk Sober Off, Before A Sprightlier Age Comes Titt'ring On, And Shoves You From The Stage.

Therefore They Who Say Our Thoughts Are Not Our Own Because They Resemble The Ancients, May As Well Say Our Faces Are Not Our Own, Because They Are Like Our Fathers: And Indeed It Is Very Unreasonable, That People Should Expect Us To Be Scholars, And Yet Be Angry To Find Us So.

But Thinks, Admitted To That Equal Sky, His Faithful Dog Shall Bear Him Company.

Whenever I Find A Great Deal Of Gratitude In A Poor Man, I Take It For Granted There Would Be As Much Generosity If He Were A Rich Man.

Only Music Has The Ability To Take You To The Edge Of Reality And Allow You To Peek In For A Moment.

A Generous Friendship No Cold Medium Knows, Burns With One Love, With One Resentment Glows.

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