Come What May, I Have Been Blest.

One Certainly Has A Soul; But How It Came To Allow Itself To Be Enclosed In A Body Is More Than I Can Imagine.

Few Things Surpass Old Wine; And They May Preach Who Please, The More Because They Preach In Vain

Fools Are My Theme, Let Satire Be My Song.

I Hate All Pain, Given Or Received; We Have Enough Within Us The Meanest Vassal As The Loftiest Monarch, Not To Add To Each Other's Natural Burden Of Mortal Misery.

There Is A Tear For All Who Die, A Mourner O'er The Humblest Grave.