One Minute Gives Invention To Destroy; What

Come, Come, Leave Business To Idlers, And Wisdom To Fools: They Have Need Of 'em: Wit Be My Faculty, And Pleasure My Occupation, And Let Father Time Shake His Glass.

O Ay, Letters - I Had Letters - I Am Persecuted With Letters - I Hate Letters - Nobody Knows How To Write Letters; And Yet One Has 'em, One Does Not Know Why - They Serve One To Pin Up One's Hair.

Nor Hell A Fury, Like A Woman Scorn'd.

I Confess Freely To You, I Could Never Look Long Upon A Monkey, Without Very Mortifying Reflections.

Words Are The Weak Support Of Cold Indifference; Love Has No Language To Be Heard.