Mother's Love Grows By Giving.

As Down In The Sunless Retreats Of The Ocean Sweet Flowers Are Springing No Mortal Can See, So Deep In My Soul The Still Prayer Of Devotion, Unheard By The World, Rises Silent To Thee. As Still To The Star Of Its Worship, Though Clouded, The Needle Points Faithfully O'er The Dim Sea, So Dark When I Roam In This Wintry World Shrouded, The Hope Of My Spirit Turns Trembling To Thee.

Brandy And Water Spoils Two Good Things.

May My Last Breath Be Drawn Through A Pipe, And Exhaled In A Jest.

Merit, God Knows, Is Very Little Rewarded.

To Be Sick Is To Enjoy Monarchical Prerogatives.