For No One Does Life Drag More

Men, Like Bullets, Go Farthest When They Are Smoothest.

With So Many Thousand Joys, Is It Not Black Ingratitude To Call The World A Place Of Sorrow And Torment?

Sorrows Are Like Thunderclouds, In The Distance They Look Black, Over Our Heads Scarcely Gray.

Our Birthdays Are Feathers In The Broad Wing Of Time.

A Variety Of Nothing Is Superior To A Monotony Of Something.