There Are As Many Forms Of Love

We Are All Fools In Love.

The Little Bit (two Inches Wide) Of Ivory On Which I Work With So Fine A Brush As Produces Little Effect After Much Labour.

Too Many Cooks Spoil The Broth

Where The Wound Had Been Given, There Must The Cure Be Found, If Any Where.

But To Live In Ignorance On Such A Point Was Impossible.