Luck Is The Residue Of Design.

And If By Prayer Incessant I Could Hope To Change The Will Of Him Who All Things Can, I Would Not Cease To Weary Him With My Assiduous Cries.

Fame Is The Last Infirmity Of The Human Mind.

Nor Turned I Ween Adam From His Fair Spouse, Nor Eve The Rites Mysterious Of Connubial Love Refused: Whatever Hypocrites Austerely Talk Of Purity And Place And Innocence, Defaming As Impure What God Declares Pure, And Commands To Some, Leaves Free To All.

Rhime Being No Necessary Adjunct Or True Ornament Of Poem Or Good Verse, In Longer Works Especially, But The Invention Of A Barbarous Age, To Set Off Wretched Matter And Lame Meeter...the Troublesom And Modern Bondage Of Rimeing.

Now I See Peace To Corrupt No Less Than War To Waste.