Let Us Have Wine And Women, Mirth

Nothing Can Confound A Wise Man More Than Laughter From A Dunce.

It Is The Lava Of The Imagination Whose Eruption Prevents An Earthquake.

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.

Ada! Sole Daughter Of My House And Heart.

None Are So Desolate But Something Dear, Dearer Than Self, Possesses Or Possess'd A Thought, And Claims The Homage Of A Tear.