Friendship Is A Sheltering Tree.

A Man Of Maxims Only Is Like A Cyclops With One Eye, And That In The Back Of His Head.

Men, I Still Think, Ought To Be Weighed Not Counted.

The More Sparingly We Make Use Of Nonsense, The Better.

For She Belike Hath Drunken Deep Of All The Blessedness Of Sleep.

All Nature Seems At Work. Slugs Leave Their Lair The Bees Are Stirring, Birds Are On The Wing, And Winter Slumbering In The Open Air, Wears On His Smiling Face A Dream Of Spring.