What Man Can Pretend To Know The

My Memory Is So Bad That Many Times I Forget My Own Name.

I Had Rather Munch A Crust Of Brown Bread And An Onion In A Corner, Without Any More Ado Or Ceremony, Than Feed Upon Turkey At Another Man?s Table, Where One Is Fain To Sit Mincing And Chewing His Meat An Hour Together, Drink Little, Be Always Wiping His Fingers And His Chops, And Never Dare To Cough Nor Sneeze, Though He Has Never So Much A Mind To It, Nor Do A Many Things Which A Body May Do Freely By One?s Self.

The Eyes Those Silent Tongues Of Love.

There Is No Proverb That Is Not True.

Those Two Fatal Words, Mine And Thine.