It takes hard writing to make easy reading.

Once you are married, there is nothing left for you, not even suicide.

Under the wide and starry sky, Dig the grave and let me lie. Glad did I live and gladly die, And I lay me down with a will. This be the verse you grave for me: Here he lies where he longed to be: Home is the sailor, home from the sea, And the hunter home from the hill.

I lived on rum, I tell you. It's been meat and drink, and man and wife, to me.

I am told there are people who do not care for maps, and I find it hard to believe.

We live in an ascending scale when we live happily, one thing leading to another in an endless series.

Death, like a host, comes smiling to the door; Smiling, he greets us, on that tranquil shore Where neither piping bird nor peeping dawn Disturbs the eternal sleep, But in the stillness far withdrawn Our dreamless rest for evermore we keep.