't Is Fortune Gives Us Birth, But

There Is A Time For Many Words, And There Is Also A Time For Sleep.

Rather I'd Choose Laboriously To Bear A Weight Of Woes, And Breathe The Vital Air, A Slave To Some Poor Hind That Toils For Bread, Than Reign The Sceptred Monarch Of The Dead.

Wine Sets Even A Thoughtful Man To Singing, Or Sets Him Into Softly Laughing, Sets Him To Dancing. Sometimes It Tosses Out A Word That Was Better Unspoken.

How Prone To Doubt, How Cautious Are The Wise!

It Never Was Our Guise To Slight The Poor, Or Aught Humane Despise.