If you do not throw in a few promises of better things to come, gloomy one, I am going to take you back to the library.
The aphorism is a slippery plaything.
Hatred makes me energetic, but confused.
Beggars remind us that not all miseries arise from our ideas.
To Jane Austen, every fool is a treasure trove.
There is a line between a definite maybe and an indefinite yes.