Hope Springs Eternal.

The Search Of Our Future Being Is But A Needless, Anxious, And Haste To Be Knowing, Sooner Than We Can, What, Without All This Solicitude, We Shall Know A Little Later.

Soft Is The Strain When Zephyr Gently Blows.

Pleasure, Or Wrong Or Rightly Understood, Our Greatest Evil, Or Our Greatest Good.

Every Woman Is At Heart A Rake.

Taste, That Eternal Wanderer, Which Flies From Head To Ears, And Now From Ears To Eyes.