Our Lives Are But Our

Envy, Like The Worm, Never Runs But To The Fairest Fruit; Like A Cunning Bloodhound, It Singles Out The Fattest Deer In The Flock.

There's Nothing That Allays An Angry Mind So Soon As A Sweet Beauty.

Nothing's So Dainty Sweet As Lovely Melancholy.

You Are No Better Than You Should Be.

Our Lives Are But Our Marches To The Grave.