Such, Polly, are your sex – part truth, part fiction; – Some thought, much whim and all a contradiction.

Such, Polly, are your sex – part truth, part fiction; – Some thought, much whim and all a contradiction.

He lives to build, not boast, a generous race; No tenth transmitter of a foolish face.

Anger is implanted in us as sort of sting, to make us gnash with our teeth against the devil, to make us vehement against him, not to set us in array against each other.

When anger rushes unrestrained to action, like a hot steed, it stumbles on its way. The man of thought strikes deepest and strikes safely.