Wine Works The Heart Up, Wakes The

In Pride, In Reas'ning Pride, Our Error Lies; All Quit Their Sphere And Rush Into The Skies. Pride Still Is Aiming At The Bless'd Abodes, Men Would Be Angels, Angels Would Be Gods.

Whenever I Find A Great Deal Of Gratitude In A Poor Man, I Take It For Granted There Would Be As Much Generosity If He Were A Rich Man.

Who Pants For Glory, Finds But Short Repose; A Breath Revives Him, Or A Breath O'erthrows.

Blest Paper-credit! Last And Best Supply! That Lends Corruption Lighter Wings To Fly!

Great Oaks Grow From Little Acorns. He Has A Green Thumb. He Has Green Fingers. He's Sowing His Wild Oats. Here Ceres' Gifts In Waving Prospect Stand, And Nodding Tempt The Joyful Reaper's Hand.