I Accept Refreshment At Any Hands, However

I Shall Carry To The Catacombs Of Age, Photographically Lined On The Tablet Of My Mind

As Is Gloriously Sung In The Gilbert And Sullivan Operetta "h.m.s. Pinafore," In The Words Of W. S. Gilbert: "things Are Seldom As They Seem, Skim Milk Masquerades As Cream."

When Every Blessed Thing You Have Is Made Of Silver, Or Of Gold, You Long For Simple Pewter.

A Man Is But An Ass Who Fights In A Cuirass

Saturday Afternoon, Although Occurring At Regular And Well-foreseen Intervals, Always Takes This Railway By Surprise.