With Throbbing Veins And Burning Skin, Eyes

Fan The Sinking Flame Of Hilarity With The Wing Of Friendship; And Pass The Rosy Wine.

He Lowered The Window, And Looked Out At The Rising Sun. There Was A Ridge Of Ploughed Land, With A Plough Upon It Where It Had Been Left Last Night When The Horses Were Unyoked; Beyond, A Quiet Coppice-wood, In Which Many Leaves Of Burning Red And Golden Yellow Still Remained Upon The Trees. Though The Earth Was Cold And Wet, The Sky Was Clear, And The Sun Rose Bright, Placid, And Beautiful.

The Word Of A Gentleman Is As Good As His Bond — Sometimes Better; As In The Present Case, Where His Bond Might Prove But A Doubtful Sort Of Security.

He Was Wise Enough To Know That Nothing Ever Happened On This Globe, For Good, At Which Some People Did Not Have Their Fill Of Laughter In The Outset

I Don't Remember Who Was There, Except Dora. I Have Not The Least Idea What We Had For Dinner, Besides Dora. My Impression Is, That I Dined Off Dora, Entirely, And Sent Away Half-a-dozen Plates Untouched. I Sat Next To Her. I Talked To Her. She Had The Most Delightful Little Voice, The Gayest Little Laugh, The Pleasantest And Most Fascinating Little Ways, That Ever Led A Lost Youth Into Hopeless Slavery. She Was Rather Diminutive Altogether. So Much The More Precious, I Thought.