The Best Is Yet To Come.

A Sentence Is But A Cheveril Glove To A Good Wit; How Quickly The Wrong Side May Be Turned Outward!

Who Are The Violets Now That Strew The Lap Of The New-come Spring?

I Am Afeard There Are Few Die Well That Die In Battle, For How Can They Charitably Dispose Of Anything When Blood Is Their Argument?

Gently To Hear, Kindly To Judge.

Sweet Flowers Are Slow And Weeds Make Haste.