Love finds an altar for forbidden fires.
To the Elysian shades dismiss my soul, where no carnation fades.
Ah! why, ye Gods, should two and two make four?
Wit is the lowest form of humor.
Talk what you will of taste, my friend, you'll find two of a face as soon as of a mind.
All looks yellow to the jaundiced eye. [and therefore the solution is to fix the jaundiced eye.]