Brother, Thy Tail Hangs Down Behind.

Call A Truce, Then, To Our Labors - Let Us Feast With Friends And Neighbors, And Be Merry As The Custom Of Our Caste; For If ''faint And Forced The Laughter,'' And If Sadness Follow After, We Are Richer By One Mocking Christmas Past.

For The Female Of The Species Is More Deadly Than The Male.

Teach Us Delight In Simple Things, And Mirth That Has No Bitter Springs.

I Have My Own Matches And Sulphur, And I'll Make My Own Hell.

Single Men In Barricks Don't Grow Into Plaster Saints.