And Simple Truth Miscalled Simplicity

For Here, I Hope, Begins Our Lasting Joy.

For 'tis The Sport To Have The Engineer Hoist With His Own Petar; And't Shall Go Hard But I Will Delve One Yard Below Their Mines And Blow Them At The Moon.

The Sense Of Death Is Most In Apprehension, And The Poor Beetle, That We Tread Upon, In Corporal Sufferance Finds A Pang As Great As When A Giant Dies.

O, The Difference Of Man And Man! To Thee A Woman's Services Are Due.

A Loud Laugh Bespeaks A Vacant Mind!