Death Hath So Many Doors To Let

That Soul That Can Be Honest Is The Only Perfect Man.

Of All The Forms Of Wisdom, Hindsight Is By General Consent The Least Merciful, The Most Unforgiving.

Wine Works The Heart Up, Wakes The Wit; There Is No Cure 'gainst Age But It. And 'tis Late And Cold, Stir Up The Fire; Sit Close And Draw The Table Nigher; Be Merry And Drink Wine That Is Old, A Hearty Medicine 'gainst The Cold.

Ask How To Live? Write, Write, Write, Anything; The World's A Fine Believing World, Write News.

A Woman Friend! He That Believes That Weakness, Steers In A Stormy Night Without A Compass.