Envy Is A Kind Of Praise.

The Sun Was Set; The Night Came On Apace, And Falling Dews Bewet Around The Place; The Bat Takes Airy Rounds On Leathern Wings, And The Hoarse Owl His Woeful Dirges Sings.

Whence Is Thy Learning? Hath Thy Toil O'er Books Consumed The Midnight Oil?

Why Is The Hearse With Scutcheons Blazon'd Round, And With The Nodding Plume Of Ostrich Crown'd? No; The Dead Know It Not, Nor Profit Gain; It Only Serves To Prove The Living Vain.

A Man Is Always Afraid Of A Woman That Loves Him Too Much

Fair Words Cost Nothing.