Those Two Fatal Words, Mine And Thine.

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.

The Little Birds Have God For Their Caterer.

The Proof Is In The Pudding.

Necessity Urges Desperate Measures.

Well, Now There's A Remedy For Everything Except Death.