The Whims Of Youth Break All The

Wine Can Of Their Wits The Wise Beguile, Make The Sage Frolic, And The Serious Smile

I Should Rather Labor As Another's Serf, In The Home Of A Man Without Fortune, One Whose Livelihood Was Meager, Than Rule Over All The Departed Dead.

No Tv And No Beer Makes Homer Something Something.

And By The Sacred Parchment, I Swear That If I Reveal The Secrets Of The Stonecutters, May My Stomach Become Bloated And My Head Be Plucked Of All But Three Hairs

It Is Wrong To Sorrow Without Ceasing.