There Was A Little Man, And He

The True Poet Dreams Being Awake.

No One Ever Regarded The First Of January With Indifference. It Is That From Which All Date Their Time, And Count Upon What Is Left. It Is The Nativity Of Our Common Adam.

There Are Like To Be Short Graces Where The Devil Plays Host.

English Physicians Kill You, The French Let You Die.

You Do Not Play Then At Whist, Sir? Alas, What A Sad Old Age You Are Preparing For Yourself!