Interest Makes All Seem Reason That Leads

My Right Eye Itches, Some Good Luck Is Near.

Thou Spring'st A Leak Already In Thy Crown, A Flaw Is In Thy Ill-bak'd Vessel Found; 'tis Hollow, And Returns A Jarring Sound, Yet Thy Moist Clay Is Pliant To Command, Unwrought, And Easy To The Potter's Hand: Now Take The Mould; Now Bend Thy Mind To Feel The First Sharp Motions Of The Forming Wheel.

To Die For Faction Is A Common Evil, But To Be Hanged For Nonsense Is The Devil.

'tis A Good Thing To Laugh At Any Rate; And If A Straw Can Tickle A Man, It Is An Instrument Of Happiness.

Better One Suffer Than A Nation Grieve.