No One Who Lives In Error Is

Account No Man Happy Till He Dies.

Good And Bad May Not Be Dissevered; There Is, As There Should Be, A Commingling.

Time Will Unveil All Things To Posterity.

It's Folly That Women Measure Their Happiness With The Pleasures Of The Bed, But They Do. And When The Pleasure Cools Or Their Man Goes Missing, All They Once Lived For Turns Dark And Hateful.

Oftener Than Not The Old Are Uncontrollable; Their Tempers Make Them Difficult To Deal With.