Shut Not Thy Purse-strings Always Against Painted

He Who Hath Not A Dram Of Folly In His Mixture Hath Pounds Of Much Worse Matter In His Composition.

I Cannot Sit And Think; Books Think For Me.

I Am Retired Leisure. I Am To Be Met With In Trim Gardens. I Am Already Come To Be Known By My Vacant Face And Careless Gesture, Perambulating At No Fixed Pace Nor With Any Settled Purpose. I Walk About; Not To And From.

If Dirt Were Trumps, What Hands You Would Hold!

How I Like To Be Liked, And What I Do To Be Liked!