Eat, Drink And Love...the Rest Is Not

The French Courage Proceeds From Vanity

Still From The Fount Of Joy's Delicious Springs Some Bitter O'er The Flowers Its Bubbling Venom Flings.

A Thousand Years May Scare Form A State. An Hour May Lay It In Ruins.

Heaven Gives Its Favourites-early Death.

I Hate All Pain, Given Or Received; We Have Enough Within Us The Meanest Vassal As The Loftiest Monarch, Not To Add To Each Other's Natural Burden Of Mortal Misery.