Every Man Is The Son Of His

Urgent Necessity Prompts Many To Do Things, At The Very Thoughts Of Which They Perhaps Would Start At Other Times.

I Had Rather Munch A Crust Of Brown Bread And An Onion In A Corner, Without Any More Ado Or Ceremony, Than Feed Upon Turkey At Another Man?s Table, Where One Is Fain To Sit Mincing And Chewing His Meat An Hour Together, Drink Little, Be Always Wiping His Fingers And His Chops, And Never Dare To Cough Nor Sneeze, Though He Has Never So Much A Mind To It, Nor Do A Many Things Which A Body May Do Freely By One?s Self.

Does The Devil Possess You? You're Leaping Over The Hedge Before You Come At The Stile.

One Swallow Alone Does Not Make A Summer.

All Sorrows Are Less With Bread.