He must have a long spoon that eats with the devil.
Jigging veins of rhyming mother wits.
We control fifty percent of a relationship. We influence one hundred percent of it.
He that loves pleasure must for pleasure fall.
Till swollen with cunning, of a self-conceit, His waxen wings did mount above his reach, And, melting, Heavens conspir'd his overthrow.
Above our life we love a steadfast friend.