Spur Not An Unbroken Horse; Put Not

Dear To Me Is My Bonnie White Steed; Oft Has He Helped Me At Pinch Of Need.

Thou And I Are But The Blind Instruments Of Some Irresistible Fatality, That Hurries Us Along, Like Goodly Vessels Driving Before The Storm, Which Are Dashed Against Each Other, And So Perish.

Cats Are A Very Mysterious Kind Of Folk. There Is Always More Passing In Their Minds Than We Are Aware Of.

If You Once Turn On Your Side After The Hour At Which You Ought To Rise, It Is All Over. Bolt Up At Once.

Merrily, Merrily Goes The Bark On A Breeze From The Northward Free, So Shoots Through The Morning Sky The Lark, Or The Swan Through The Summer Sea.