The World Is A Bundle Of Hay,

And Angling Too, That Solitary Vice, What Izaak Walton Sings Or Says: The Quaint, Old, Cruel Coxcomb, In His Gullet Should Have A Hook, And A Small Trout To Pull It.

Friendship May, And Often Does, Grow Into Love, But Love Never Subsides Into Friendship.

That Famish'd People Must Be Slowly Nurst, And Fed By Spoonfuls, Else They Always Burst.

Man's Conscience Is The Oracle Of God.

For Truth Is Always Strange; Stranger Than Fiction.