Why Should The Eyes Be

Poetry Is A Whim Of Nature In Her Lighter Moods; It Requires Nothing But Its Own Madness And, Lacking That, It Becomes A Soundless Cymbal, A Belfry Without A Bell.

Perfumed And Gallant Words Make Our Ears Belch.

Telling You The Truth Than Adore Me For Telling You Lies.

Age Has A Good Mind And Sorry Shanks.

If You Want To Annoy Your Neighbors, Tell The Truth About Them.