A pun is not bound by the laws which limit nicer wit. It is a pistol let off at the ear; not a feather to tickle the intellect.

Here cometh April again, and as far as I can see the world hath more fools in it than ever.

The greatest pleasure I know, is to do a good action by stealth, and to have it found out by accident.

A garden was the primitive prison, till man with Promethean felicity and boldness, luckily sinned himself out of it.

The red-letter days, now become, to all intents and purposes, dead-letter days.

Beholding heaven, and feeling hell.

And the tear that we shed, though in secret it rolls, Shall long keep his memory green in our souls.