And Send Him Many Years Of Sunshine

He Is Not Worthy Of The Honey-comb, That Shuns The Hives Because The Bees Have Stings.

Is It Not Strange, That Sheep's Guts Should Hale Souls Out Of Men's Bodies!

Let Me Not Live, After My Flame Lacks Oil, To Be The Snuff Of Younger Spirits.

I'll Read Enough When I Do See The Very Book Indeed Where All My Sins Are Writ, And That's Myself.

Give Me A Bowl Of Wine, In This I Bury All Unkindness.