Thrift, thrift, Horatio! The funeral bak'd meats did coldly furnish forth the marriage tables.
Why, what should be the fear? I do not set my life at a pin's fee.
From this time forth My thoughts be bloody, or be nothing worth!
I will speak daggers to her, but use none.
More matter with less art.
A countenance more in sorrow than in anger.
Words without thoughts never to heaven go.
One may smile, and smile, and be a villain.
The cat will mew, and dog will have his day.
The oat is the Horatio Alger of cereals, which progressed, if not from rags to riches, at least from weed to health food.
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