My Hair Is Grey, But Not With

Since Eve Ate The Apple, Much Depends On Dinner.

One Hates An Author That's All Author.

I Hate All Pain, Given Or Received; We Have Enough Within Us The Meanest Vassal As The Loftiest Monarch, Not To Add To Each Other's Natural Burden Of Mortal Misery.

Grief Is Fantastical, And Loves The Dead, And The Apparel Of The Grave.

A Thirst For Gold, The Beggar's Vice, Which Can But Overwhelm The Meanest Hearts.