Samuel Butler

Ay me! what perils do environ
The man that meddles with cold iron!

Ay me! what perils do environ
The man that meddles with cold iron!

And poets by their sufferings grow,--
As if there were no more to do,
To make a read more

And poets by their sufferings grow,--
As if there were no more to do,
To make a poet excellent,
But only want and discontent.

Life is the art of drawing sufficent conclusions from insufficient premises.

Life is the art of drawing sufficent conclusions from insufficient premises.

H' had got a hurt
O' th' inside of a deadlier sort.

H' had got a hurt
O' th' inside of a deadlier sort.

Compound for sins they are inclin'd to,
By damning those they have no mind to.

Compound for sins they are inclin'd to,
By damning those they have no mind to.