Wine It Is The Milk Of Venus,

Nothing Is A Courtesy Unless It Be Meant Us, And That Friendly And Lovingly. We Owe No Thanks To Rivers That They Carry Our Boats, Or Winds That They Be Favoring And Fill Our Sails, Or Meats That They Be Nourishing; For These Are What They Are Necessarily. Horses Carry Us, Trees Shade Us; But They Know It Not.

Money Never Made Any Man Rich, But His Mind. He That Can Order Himself To The Law Of Nature, Is Not Only Without The Sense, But The Fear Of Poverty.

Indeed There's A Woundy Luck In Names.

The Burnt Child Dreads The Fire.

The Day For Whose Returns, And Many, All These Pray; And So Do I.