She Who Has Never Lov'd, Has Never

Woman's Mind Oft' Shifts Her Passions, Like Th'inconstant Wind; Sudden She Rages, Like The Troubled Main, Now Sinks The Storm, And All Is Calm Again.

The Careful Insect 'midst His Works I View, Now From The Flowers Exhaust The Fragrant Dew, With Golden Treasures Load His Little Thighs, And Steer His Distant Journey Through The Skies.

Beasts Kill For Hunger, Men For Pay.

The Luxury Of Doing Good Surpasses Every Other Personal Enjoyment.

Fill It Up. I Take As Large Draughts Of Liquor As I Did Of Love. I Hate A Flincher In Either.