Oh, The Cares Of Men! How Much

The Belly (i.e. Necessity) Is The Teacher Of Art And The Liberal Bestower Of Wit.

Out Of Nothing Can Come, And Nothing Can Become Nothing.

But When To-morrow Comes, Yesterday's Morrow Will Have Been Already Spent: And Lo! A Fresh Morrow Will Be For Ever Making Away With Our Years, Each Just Beyond Our Grasp.

Each Man Has His Own Desires; All Do Not Possess The Same Inclinations.

Please Not Thyself The Flattering Crowd To Hear; 'tis Fulsome Stuff, To Please Thy Itching Ear. Survey Thy Soul, Not What Thou Does Appear, But What Thou Art.