Brandy And Water Spoils Two Good Things.

Friend Of My Bosom, Thou More Than A Brother, Why Wert Thou Not Born In My Father's Dwelling?

Damn The Age. I'll Write For Antiquity.

Fly Not Yet; 't Is Just The Hour When Pleasure, Like The Midnight Flower That Scorns The Eye Of Vulgar Light, Begins To Bloom For Sons Of Night And Maids Who Love The Moon.

My Only Books Were Woman's Looks,- And Folly 's All They 've Taught Me.

Every Commonplace Or Trite Observation Is Not A Truism.