There's No Taking Trout With Dry Breeches.

I Never Thrust My Nose Into Other Men's Porridge. It Is No Bread And Butter Of Mine; Every Man For Himself, And God For Us All.

I Know Well Enough That There Have Been Dogs So Loving That They Have Thrown Themselves Into The Same Grave With The Dead Bodies Of Their Masters.

Soul Of Fibre And Heart Of Oak.

The Poet May Say Or Sing, Not As Things Were, But As They Ought To Have Been; But The Historian Must Pen Them, Not As They Ought To Have Been, But As They Really Were.

Be Slow Of Tongue And Quick Of Eye.