Who Covets More Is Evermore A Slave.

I Sing Of Brooks, Of Blossoms, Birds, And Bowers: Of April, May, Or June, And July Flowers. I Sing Of Maypoles, Hock-carts, Wassails, Wakes, Of Bridegrooms, Brides, And Of The Bridal Cakes.

Praise They That Will Times Past, I Joy To See My Selfe Now Live: This Age Best Pleaseth Mee.

Seldom Comes Glory Till A Man Be Dead.

It Takes Great Wit And Interest And Energy To Be Happy. The Pursuit Of Happiness Is A Great Activity. One Must Be Open And Alive. It Is The Greatest Feat Man Has To Accomplish.

It Is The End That Crowns Us, Not The Fight.