Revenge is always the weak pleasure of a little and narrow mind.
Remote though your farm may be, It's something to be the lord of one green lizard-and free.
When your armour is on, it is too late to retreat.
The sweetest pleasures soonest cloy, And its best flavour temperance gives to joy.
Even savage animals can agree among themselves.
An incurable itch for scribbling takes possession of many, and grows inveterate in their insane breasts.