Few Things Surpass Old Wine; And They

The Devil Hath Not, In All His Quiver's Choice, An Arrow For The Heart Like A Sweet Voice.

Since Eve Ate The Apple, Much Depends On Dinner.

Fare Thee Well, And If For Ever Still For Ever Fare Thee Well.

I Shall Soon Be Six-and-twenty. Is There Anything In The Future That Can Possibly Console Us For Not Being Always Twenty-five?

A Rose With All Its Sweetest Leaves Yet Folded.