When Eve upon the first of Men The apple press'd with specious cant, Oh! what a thousand pities then That Adam was not Adamant!
To attempt to advise conceited people is like whistling against the wind.
What is mind? No matter. What is matter? Never mind. What is the soul? It is immaterial.
A certain portion of the human race has certainly a taste for being diddled.
The best of friends fall out, and so his teeth had done some years ago.
No sun, no moon, no morn, no noon, No dawn, no dusk, no proper time of day, . . . . . . No road, no street, no t' other side the way, . . . . . . No shade, no shine, no butterflies, no bees, No fruits, no flowers, no leaves, no buds.