Happiness Was Born A Twin.

Nothing So Difficult As A Beginning In Poesy, Unless Perhaps The End.

Oh, Nature's Noblest Gift, My Grey Goose Quill, Slave Of My Thoughts, Obedient To My Will, Torn From The Parent Bird To Form A Pen, That Mighty Instrument Of Little Men.

Retirement Accords With The Tone Of My Mind; I Will Not Descend To A World I Despise.

A Pretty Woman Is A Welcome Guest.

Now What I Love In Women Is, They Won't Or Can't Do Otherwise Than Lie, But Do It. So Well, The Very Truth Seems Falsehood To It.