Heaven Gives Its Favourites-early Death.

Still From The Fount Of Joy's Delicious Springs Some Bitter O'er The Flowers Its Bubbling Venom Flings.

The Devil Hath Not, In All His Quiver's Choice, An Arrow For The Heart Like A Sweet Voice.

Self Praise Is No Praise At All.

I Have A Notion That Gamblers Are As Happy As Most People - Being Always Excited.

That Low Vice, Curiosity!