When Eve upon the first of Men The apple press'd with specious cant, Oh! what a thousand pities then That Adam was not Adamant!

Well for the drones of the social hive that there are bees of an industrious turn, willing, for an infinitesimal share of the honey, to undertake the labor of its fabrication.

A certain portion of the human race has certainly a taste for being diddled.

I resolved that, like the sun, as long as my day lasted, I would look on the bright side of everything.

No shade, no shine, no butterflies, no bees, No fruits, no flowers, no leaves, no birds - November!

There is a silence where hath been no sound, There is a silence where no sound may be,- In the cold grave, under the deep, deep sea, Or in the wide desert where no life is found.

The biggest bore of all is he who is overflowing with congratulations