Oh! The Good Times When We Were

If God Were Suddenly Condemned To Live The Life Which He Has Inflicted Upon Men, He Would Kill Himself.

His Fair Landlady Was In Despair. She Would Most Willingly Have Made M. D'artagnan Her Husband--such A Handsome Man, And Such A Fierce Mustache!

I'm Sure You're Very Nice, But You'd Be Even Nicer If You Went Away.

In Politics, My Dear Fellow, You Know, As Well As I Do, There Are No Men, But Ideas — No Feelings, But Interests; In Politics We Do Not Kill A Man, We Only Remove An Obstacle, That Is All.

The Wretched And Miserable Should Turn To Their Saviour First, Yet They Do Not Hope In Him Until All Other Hope Is Exhausted.