As Ill-luck Would Have It.

The Proof Of The Pudding Is The Eating.

Let Every Man Mind His Own Business.

The Pen Is The Language Of The Soul; As The Concepts That In It Are Generated, Such Will Be Its Writings.

With Life Many Things Are Remedied.

I Had Rather Munch A Crust Of Brown Bread And An Onion In A Corner, Without Any More Ado, Or Ceremony, Than Feed Upon Turkey At Another Man's Table.