For dhrames always go by conthraries, my dear.

I'll seek a four leaved shamrock in all thy fairy dells, And if I find the charmed leaves, oh, how I'll weave my spells!

Circumstances are the rulers of the weak; they are but the instruments of the wise.

Reproof on her lip, but a smile in her eye.

There's luck in odd numbers.

For dhrames always go by conthraries, my dear.

The neck on which diamonds might have worthily sparkled, will look less tempting when the biting winter has hung icicles there for gems.