Time Is Lord Of Thee: Thy Wealth,

The Juice Of The Grape Is The Liquid Quintessence Of Concentrated Sunbeams.

My Quarrel With Him Is, That His Works Contain Nothing Worth Quoting; And A Book That Furnishes No Quotations, Is Me Judice, No Book,—it Is A Plaything.

Nothing Can Be More Obvious Than That All Animals Were Created Solely And Exclusively For The Use Of Man.

Time, The Foe Of Man's Dominion, Wheels Around In Ceaseless Flight, Scattering From His Hoary Pinion Shades Of Everlasting Night.

Laughter Ispleasant, Butthe Exertion Istoomuchfor Me.