Poets Are Far Rarer Birds Than Kings.

Spread Yourself Upon His Bosom Publicly, Whose Heart You Would Eat In Private.

One Woman Reads Another's Character Without The Tedious Trouble Of Deciphering

Nor Shall Our Cups Make Any Guilty Men; But At Our Parting, We Will Be, As When We Innocently Met.

I Glory, More In The Cunning Purchase Of My Wealth Than In The Glad Possession.

The Burnt Child Dreads The Fire.