Hairbreadth Missings Of Happiness Look

He That Dies Before Sixty, Of A Cold Or Consumption, Dies, In Reality, By A Violent Death.

Wine Is A Turncoat; First A Friend And Then An Enemy.

The Blackest Ink Of Fate Are Sure My Lot, And When Fate Writ My Name It Made A Blot.

It May Be Laid Down As A General Rule, That No Woman Who Hath Any Great Pretensions To Admiration Is Ever Well Pleased In A Company Where She Perceives Herself To Fill Only The Second Place.

...the Act Of Eating,which Hath By Several Wise Men Been Considered As Extremely Mean And Derogatory From The Philosophic Dignity, Must Be In Some Measure Performed By The Greatest Prince, Hero, Or Philosopher Upon Earth; Nay, Sometimes Nature Hath Been So Frolicsome As To Exact Of These Dignified Characters A Much More Exorbitant Share Of This Office Than She Hath Obliged Those Of The Lowest Orders To Perform.