For God's Sake (i Never

My Motto Is: Contented With Little, Yet Wishing For More.

A Clear Fire, A Clean Hearth, And The Rigour Of The Game.

Tis The Privilege Of Friendship To Talk Nonsense, And To Have Nonsense Respected.

I Grow Ominously Tired Of Official Confinement. Thirty Years Have I Served The Philistines, And My Neck Is Not Subdued To The Yoke. You Don't Know How Wearisome It Is To Breathe The Air Of Four Pent Walls Without Relief Day After Day, All The Golden Hours Of The Day Between Ten And Four Without Ease Or Interposition ... These Pestilential Clerk-faces Always In One's Dish. O For A Few Years Between The Grave And The Desk!

Oh, Breathe Not His Name! Let It Sleep In The Shade, Where Cold And Unhonour'd His Relics Are Laid