We are nothing; less than nothing, and dreams. We are only what might have been.

A clear fire, a clean hearth, and the rigour of the game.

We were happier when we were poorer, but we were also younger.

We grow gray in our spirit long before we grow gray in our hair.

And when once the young heart of a maiden is stolen, The maiden herself will steal after it soon.

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.

The beggar wears all colors fearing none.