What I Am Looking For Is A

We Are But The Veriest, Sorriest Slaves Of Our Stomach. Reach Not After Morality And Righteousness, My Friends; Watch Vigilantly Your Stomach, And Diet It With Care And Judgment.

Life Will Always Remain A Gamble, With Prizes Sometimes For The Imprudent, And Blanks So Often To The Wise.

The Odour Of Burgundy, And The Smell Of French Sauces, And The Sight Of Clean Napkins And Long Loaves, Knocked As A Very Welcome Visitor At The Door Of Our Inner Man.

Being Poor Is A Mere Trifle. It Is Being Known To Be Poor That Is The Sting.

We Like, We Cherish, We Are Very, Very Fond Of—but We Never Love Again.