My books kept me from the ring, the dog-pit, the tavern, and the saloon.
When was ever honey made with one bee in a hive?
Half of the failures in life come from pulling one's horse when he is leaping.
He lies like a hedgehog rolled up the wrong way, Tormenting himself with his prickles.
Well for the drones of the social hive that there are bees of an industrious turn, willing, for an infinitesimal share of the honey, to undertake the labor of its fabrication.
Oh, if it be to choose and call thee mine, love, thou art every day my Valentine!