A True Friend Is A Sort Of

Let Each Man Have According To His Deserts.

Nothing Dries Sooner Than A Tear.

Not To Be Covetous, Is Money; Not To Be A Purchaser, Is A Revenue.

Death Darkens His Eyes, And Unplumes His Wings, Yet The Sweetest Song Is The Last He Sings: Live So, My Love, That When Death Shall Come, Swan-like And Sweet It May Waft Thee Home.

No One Is So Old That He Does Not Think He Could Live Another Year.