... One Always Believes One's Own Town

There's Folks 'ud Stand On Their Heads And Then Say The Fault Was I' Their Boots.

Under Every Guilty Secret There Is Hidden A Brood Of Guilty Wishes, Whose Unwholesome Infecting Life Is Cherished By The Darkness.

When We Are Young We Think Our Troubles A Mighty Business - That The World Is Spread Out Expressly As A Stage For The Particular Drama Of Our Lives And That We Have A Right To Rant And Foam At The Mouth If We Are Crossed. I Have Done Enough Of That In My Time.

The Beauty Of A Lovely Woman Is Like Music.

A Maggot Must Be Born I' The Rotten Cheese To Like It.