Keep Thy Smooth Words And Juggling Homilies

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

A Quiet Conscience Makes One So Serene.

Oh, Talk Not To Me Of A Name Great In Story; The Days Of Our Youth Are The Days Of Our Glory; And The Myrtle And Ivy Of Sweet Two-and-twenty Are Worth All Your Laurels, Though Ever So Plenty.

Damn Description, It Is Always Disgusting.

Heaven Gives Its Favourites-early Death.