This Wretched Brain Gave Way,

A Pretty Wife Is Something For The Fastidious Vanity Of A Roue To Retire Upon.

Though The Last Glimpse Of Erin With Sorrow I See, Yet Wherever Thou Art Shall Seem Erin To Me; In Exile Thy Bosom Shall Still Be My Home, And Thine Eyes Make My Climate Wherever We Roam.

Romantic Love Is An Illusion. Most Of Us Discover This Truth At The End Of A Love Affair Or Else When The Sweet Emotions Of Love Lead Us Into Marriage And Then Turn Down Their Flames.

I Have Plenty Of Machinery Around Me; What I Really Need Is A More Enchanting World In Which To Live And Work.

Like Ships That Have Gone Down At Sea, When Heaven Was All Tranquillity.