We Are All Mortals, And Each Is

Our Minds Need Relaxation, And Give Way Unless We Mix With Work A Little Play.

I Feed On Good Soup, Not Beautiful Language.

The Trees That Are Slow To Grow Bear The Best Fruit.

He Must Have Killed A Lot Of Men To Have Made So Much Money.

If Everyone Were Clothed With Integrity, If Every Heart Were Just, Frank, Kindly, The Other Virtues Would Be Well-nigh Useless.