He would not, with a peremptory tone,Assert the nose upon his face his own.

O solitude, where are the charms That sages have seen in thy face? Better dwell in the midst of alarms, Than reign in this horrible place.

A hat not much the worse for wear.

It is a terrible thought, that nothing is ever forgotten; that not an oath is ever uttered that does not continue to vibrate through all times, in the wide spreading current of sound; that not a prayer is lisped, that its record is not to be found st

Don't cut off your nose to spite your face

He that holds fast the golden mean,And lives contently betweenThe little and the great,Feels not the wants that pinch the poor,Nor plagues that haunt the rich man's door.