He Who Has Mingled In The Fray

Water Is The Mother Of The Vine, The Nurse And Fountain Of Fecundity, The Adorner And Refresher Of The World.

Some Love To Roam O'er The Dark Sea's Foam, Where The Shrill Winds Whistle Free.

There Is Scarcely An Occurrence In Nature Which, Happening At A Certain Time, Is Not Looked Upon By Some Persons As A Prognosticator Either Of Good Or Evil. The Latter Are In The Greatest Number, So Much More Ingenious Are We In Tormenting Ourselves Than In Discovering Reasons For Enjoyment In The Things That Surround Us.

If Happy I And Wretched He, Perhaps The King Would Change With Me.

Extraordinary Popular Delusions And The Madness Of Crowds