Oh, The Pleasure Of Eating My Dinner

Your Absence Of Mind We Have Borne, Till Your Presence Of Body Came To Be Called In Question By It.

We All Have Some Taste Or Other, Of Too Ancient A Date To Admit Of Our Remembering It Was An Acquired One.

No Woman Dresses Below Herself From Mere Caprice.

So Near Are The Boundaries Of Panegyric And Invective, That A Worn-out Sinner Is Sometimes Found To Make The Best Declaimer Against Sin. The Same High-seasoned Descriptions Which In His Unregenerate State Served To Inflame His Appetites, In His New Province Of A Moralist Will Serve Him (a Little Turned) To Expose The Enormity Of Those Appetites In Other Men.

The Beggar Wears All Colors Fearing None.