Though I Never Scruple A Lie To

Nay, But Jack, Such Eyes! Such Eyes! So Innocently Wild! So Bashfully Irresolute! Not A Glance But Speaks And Kindles Some Thought Of Love! Then, Jack, Her Cheeks! Her Cheeks, Jack! So Deeply Blushing At The Insinuations Of Her Tell-tale Eyes! Then, Jack, Her Lips! O, Jack, Lips Smiling At Their Own Discretion! And, If Not Smiling, More Sweetly Pouting - More Lovely In Sullenness! Then, Jack, Her Neck! O, Jack, Jack!

I Ne'er Could Any Lustre See In Eyes That Would Not Look On Me; I Ne'er Saw Nectar On A Lip But Where My Own Did Hope To Sip.

Many A Wretch Has Rid On A Hurdle Who Has Done Less Mischief Than Utterers Of Forged Tales, Coiners Of Scandal, And Clippers Of Reputation.

There's Only One Truth About War: People Die.

Easy Writings Curse Is Hard Reading.