The Arrows Are From Her Dowry.

Let Me Moderate Our Sorrows. The Grief Of A Man Should Not Exceed Proper Bounds, But Be In Proportion To The Blow He Has Received. [lat., Ponamus Nimios Gemitus: Flagrantior Aequo Non Debet Dolor Esse Viri, Nec Vulnere Major.]

She Knows No Difference 'twixt Head And Privities Who Devours Immense Oysters At Midnight.

The Tongue Is The Vile Slave's Vilest Part.

Give Them Bread And Circuses And They Will Never Revolt

No One Every Suddenly Became Depraved.