Good Words Quench More Then A Bucket

Leave Jesting Whiles It Pleaseth, Lest It Turne To Earnest.

It Is A Great Victory That Comes Without Blood.

Reckon Right, And February Hath One And Thirty Daies.

A Morning Sunne, And A Wine-bred Child, And A Latin-bred Woman, Seldome End Well.

The Sundaies Of Man's Life, Thredded Together On Time's String, Make Bracelets To Adorn The Wife Of The Eternal, Glorious King. On Sunday Heaven's Gates Stand Ope; Blessings Are Plentiful And Rife. More Plentiful Than Hope.