Kisses are but like sands of gold and silver, found upon the ground which are not worth much themselves but as they promise a mine near too be dig'd.

A mans fame and hayre grow most after death, and are both equally uselesse.

What a Devil is the Plot good for, but to bring in fine things?

We recognised that just putting more flights and more passengers into the skies over southeast England wasn't worth the environmental costs we-re paying.

Our Poets make us laugh at Tragœdy, And with their Comoedies they make us cry.

I drink, I huff, I strut, look big and stare; And all this I can do, because I dare.

Kisses are but like sands of gold and silver, found upon the ground which are not worth much themselves but as they promise a mine near too be dig'd.