Since Eve Ate The Apple, Much Depends

A Man Must Serve His Time To Every Trade, Save Censure-critics All Are Ready Made. Take Hackney'd Jokes From Miller, Got By Rote With Just Enough Learning To Misquote.

A Feast Not Profuse But Elegant; More Of Salt [refinement] Than Of Expense.

None Are So Desolate But Something Dear, Dearer Than Self, Possesses Or Possess'd A Thought, And Claims The Homage Of A Tear.

There's Naught, No Doubt, So Much The Spirit Calms As Rum And True Religion.

In Commitment, We Dash The Hopes Of A Thousand Potential Selves.