One Big Vice In A Man Is

Perhaps There Is No Gift Of Nature That Requires As Little Exertion On The Part Of The Owner As Personal Beauty. I Am Not Certain But That It Is This Very Absence Of Effort Which Excites Our Admiration.

The Delicate Thought, That Cannot Find Expression, For Ruder Speech Too Fair, That, Like Thy Petals, Trembles In Possession, And Scatters On The Air.

There Is Peace In The Swamp, Though The Quiet Is Death

When Folks Find I Ain't Afeard To Speak My Mind On Their Affairs, They Kinder Guess I'm Tellin' The Truth About My Own.

Each Lost Day Has Its Patron Saint!