What Showers Arise, Blown With The Windy

The Very Firstlings Of My Heart Shall Be The Firstlings Of My Hand.

I Am But Mad North-north-west. When The Wind Is Southerly, I Know A Hawk From A Handsaw.

The Stroke Of Death Is As A Lover's Pinch, Which Hurts And Is Desired.

Men Have Marble, Women Waxen, Minds.

With Caution Judge Of Probability. Things Deemed Unlikely, E'en Impossible, Experience Oft Hath Proved To Be True.