I Was Not Always A Man Of

Silence, Maiden; Thy Tongue Outruns Thy Discretion.

Do Not Christians And Heathens, And Jews And Gentiles, And Poets And Philosophers, Unite In Allowing The Starry Influences?

Cats Are A Mysterious Kind Of Folk.

Thou And I Are But The Blind Instruments Of Some Irresistible Fatality, That Hurries Us Along, Like Goodly Vessels Driving Before The Storm, Which Are Dashed Against Each Other, And So Perish.

Of All Vices, Drinking Is The Most Incompatible With Greatness.