Riches Are Able To Solder Up Abundance

'tis Said Of Love That It Sometimes Goes, Sometimes Flies; Runs With One, Walks Gravely With Another; Turns A Third Into Ice, And Sets A Fourth In A Flame: It Wounds One, Another It Kills: Like Lightning It Begins And Ends In The Same Moment: It Makes That Fort Yield At Night Which It Besieged But In The Morning; For There Is No Force Able To Resist It.

I Have Other Fish To Fry.

I Had Rather Munch A Crust Of Brown Bread And An Onion In A Corner, Without Any More Ado Or Ceremony, Than Feed Upon Turkey At Another Man?s Table, Where One Is Fain To Sit Mincing And Chewing His Meat An Hour Together, Drink Little, Be Always Wiping His Fingers And His Chops, And Never Dare To Cough Nor Sneeze, Though He Has Never So Much A Mind To It, Nor Do A Many Things Which A Body May Do Freely By One?s Self.

From Reading Too Much, And Sleeping Too Little, His Brain Dried Up On Him And He Lost His Judgment.

'tis The Maddest Trick A Man Can Ever Play In His Whole Life, To Let His Breath Sneak Out Of His Body Without Any More Ado, And Without So Much As A Rap O'er The Pate, Or A Kick Of The Guts; To Go Out Like The Snuff Of A Farthing Candle, And Die Merely Of The Mulligrubs, Or The Sullens.