A Wit With Dunces, And A Dunce

The Only Time You Run Out Of Chances Is When You Stop Taking Them

The Season When To Come, And When To Go, To Sing, Or Cease To Sing, We Never Know.

Oh, Blindness To The Future! Kindly Giv'n, That Each May Fill The Circle Mark'd By Heaven.

Behold The Child, By Nature's Kindly Law Pleased With A Rattle, Tickled With A Straw.

Order Is Heaven's First Law; And This Confessed, Some Are, And Must Be, Greater Than The Rest, More Rich, More Wise; But Who Infers From Hence That Such Are Happier, Shocks All Common Sense. Condition, Circumstance, Is Not The Thing; Bliss Is The Same In Subject Or In King.