Reproach Is Infinite, And Knows No End.

Men In Their Generations Are Like The Leaves Of The Trees. The Wind Blows And One Year's Leaves Are Scattered On The Ground; But The Trees Burst Into Bud And Put On Fresh Ones When The Spring Comes Round.

Far From Me Be The Gift Of Bacchus--pernicious, Inflaming Wine, That Weakens Both Body And Mind.

You Know, The One With All The Well Meaning Rules That Don't Work Out In Real Life, Uh, Christianity.

The Man Who Acts The Least, Upbraids The Most.

Thou Shalt Not Horn In On Thy Husbands Racket