Time Ripens All Things; No Man Is

By The Streets Of 'by And By,' One Arrives At The House Of 'never'.

Every Dog Has His Day.

The Pen Is The Tongue Of The Soul; As Are The Thoughts Engendered There, So Will Be The Things Written.

Do You See Over Yonder, Friend Sancho, Thirty Or Forty Hulking Giants? I Intend To Do Battle With Them And Slay Them.

Those Two Fatal Words, Mine And Thine.