We Are All Apt To Believe What

When You Get Me A Good Man Made Out Of Arguments, I Will Get You A Good Dinner With Reading You The Cookery Book.

A Woman Mixed Of Such Fine Elements That Were All Virtue And Religion Dead She'd Make Them Newly, Being What She Was.

We Are All Of Us Imaginative In Some Form Or Other, For Images Are The Brood Of Desire.

In The Vain Laughter Of Folly Wisdom Hears Half Its Applause.

All The Learnin' My Father Ever Paid For Was A Bit O' Birch At One End And The Alphabet At Th ' Other.