The Whims Of Youth Break All The

Hateful To Me As Are The Gates Of Hell, Is He Who, Hiding One Thing In His Heart, Utters Another.

Shame Is No Comrade For The Poor, I Weet.

And When Long Years And Seasons Wheeling Brought Around That Point Of Time Ordained For Him To Make His Passage Homeward, Trials And Dangers, Even So, Attended Him Even In Ithaca, Near Those He Loved.

Porkchops And Bacon, My Two Favorite Animals.

Heaven Hears And Pities Hapless Men Like Me, For Sacred Ev'n To Gods Is Misery.