Coquetry Is The Champagne Of Love.

Father Of Rosy Day, No More Thy Clouds Of Incense Rise; But Waking Flow'rs, At Morning Hours, Give Out Their Sweets To Meet Thee In The Skies.

When Eve Upon The First Of Men The Apple Press'd With Specious Cant, Oh! What A Thousand Pities Then That Adam Was Not Adamant!

Well For The Drones Of The Social Hive That There Are Bees Of An Industrious Turn, Willing, For An Infinitesimal Share Of The Honey, To Undertake The Labor Of Its Fabrication.

Half Of The Failures In Life Come From Pulling One's Horse When He Is Leaping.

A Man That's Fond Precociously Of Stirring , :;:; Must Be A Spoon.