I feed on good soup, not beautiful language.
The scandal of the world is what makes the offence; it is not sinful to sin in silence.
I live on good soup, not on fine words.
Words and deeds are far from being one. Much that is talked about is left undone.
Sometimes I feel something akin to rage At the corrupted morals of this age!
Wives rarely fuss about their beauty To guarantee their mate's affection.