For through the South the custom still commands The gentleman to kiss the lady's hands.

Of all tales 'tis the saddest--and more sad, Because it makes us smile.

That famish'd people must be slowly nurst, and fed by spoonfuls, else they always burst.

Let us have wine and woman, mirth and laughter, Sermons and soda water the day after. Man, being reasonable, must get drunk; The best of life is but intoxication: Glory, the grape, love, gold, in these are sunk The hopes of all men, and of every nation; Without their sap, how branchless were the trunk Of life's strange tree, so fruitful on occasion: But to return--Get very drunk; and when You wake with head-ache, you shall see what then.

Mont Blanc is the monarch of mountains; They crown'd him long ago On a throne of rocks, in a robe of clouds, With a diadem of snow.

All who joy would win must share it. Happiness was born a Twin.

Retirement accords with the tone of my mind; I will not descend to a world I despise.