The Heart That Is Conscious Of Its

Sheer Necessity,-the Proper Parent Of An Art So Nearly Allied To Invention.

Ay, Ay, The Best Terms Will Grow Obsolete: Damns Have Had Their Day.

Our Memories Are Independent Of Our Wills.

Nay, But Jack, Such Eyes! Such Eyes! So Innocently Wild! So Bashfully Irresolute! Not A Glance But Speaks And Kindles Some Thought Of Love! Then, Jack, Her Cheeks! Her Cheeks, Jack! So Deeply Blushing At The Insinuations Of Her Tell-tale Eyes! Then, Jack, Her Lips! O, Jack, Lips Smiling At Their Own Discretion! And, If Not Smiling, More Sweetly Pouting - More Lovely In Sullenness! Then, Jack, Her Neck! O, Jack, Jack!

There's No Possibility Of Being Witty Without A Little Ill-nature - The Malice Of A Good Thing Is The Barb That Makes It Stick.