Bad's The Best Of Us.

Daisies Smell-less, Yet Most Quaint, And Sweet Thyme True, Primrose, First Born Child Of Ver, Merry Spring-time's Harbinger.

But What Is Past My Help Is Past My Care.

Our Lives Are But Our Marches To The Grave.

There Is A Method In Man's Wickedness; It Grows Up By Degrees.

Bad's The Best Of Us.