Some Sigh For This And That; My

No Blessed Leisure For Love Or Hope, But Only Time For Grief.

Lives Of Great Men Oft Remind Us As We O'er Their Pages Turn, That We Too May Leave Behind Us - Letters That We Ought To Burn.

A Certain Portion Of The Human Race Has Certainly A Taste For Being Diddled.

The Lily Is All In White, Like A Saint, And So Is No Mate For Me.

Comfort And Indolence Are Cronies.