You must lie upon the daisies and discourse in novel phrases of complicated state of mind. The meaning doesn't matter if it's only idle chatter of a transcendental kind.
When every blessed thing you have is made of silver, or of gold, you long for simple pewter.
Posterity shall know of me even less than I shall know of posterity.
I accept refreshment at any hands, however lowly.
A policeman's lot is not a happy one
To sit in solemn silence on a dull, dark dock in a pestilential prison with a life-long lock awaiting the sensation of a short, sharp shock from a cheap and chippy chopper on a big, black block.