Necessity, The Mother Of Invention.

Our Sex Still Strikes An Awe Upon The Brave, And Only Cowards Dare Affront A Woman.

Spite Of All Modesty, A Man Must Own A Pleasure In The Hearing Of His Praise.

Like Hungry Guests, A Sitting Audience Looks / Plays Are Like Suppers; Poets Are The Cooks / The Founder's You; The Table Is This Place / The Carvers We; The Prologue Is The Grace / Each Act A Course, Each Scene, A Different Dish.

'twas For The Good Of My Country That I Should Be Abroad. Anything For The Good Of One's Country-i'm A Roman For That.

Tis A Question Whether Adversity Or Prosperity Makes The Most Poets.