Come What May, I Have Been Blest.

Dreading That Climax Of All Human Ills The Inflammation Of His Weekly Bills.

Eat, Drink And Love...the Rest Is Not Worth A Nickel

What Is Death, So It Be But Glorious? 'tis A Sunset; And Mortals May Be Happy To Resemble The Gods But In Decay.

There Are Some Feelings Time Cannot Benumb, Nor Torture Shake.

A Man Of Eighty Has Outlived Probably Three New Schools Of Painting, Two Of Architecture And Poetry And A Hundred In Dress.