These Flowers Are Like The Pleasures Of

You Know That I Do Fawn On Men, And Hug Them Hard, And After Scandal Them.

He Hath Not Eat Paper, As It Were; He Hath Not Drunk Ink; His Intellect Is Not Replenished; He Is Only An Animal, Only Sensible In The Duller Parts. (shakespeare, Love's Labor's Lost, Iv)

I'll Never Be Such A Gosling To Obey Instinct, But Stand As Is A Man Were Author Of Himself And Knew No Other Kin.

The Tongues Of Mocking Wenches Are As Keen As Is The Razor's Edge Invisible.

Dost Thou Love Hawking? Thou Hast Hawks Will Soar Above The Morning Lark.