How happy is the sailor's life, from coast to coast to roam; in every port he finds a wife, in every land a home.

There was a jolly miller once, / Lived on the river Dee; / He worked and sang from morn till night; / No lark more blithe than he.

We all love a pretty girl - under the rose.

And this the burden of his song / For ever used to be, / I care for nobody, not I, / If no one cares for me.

I do not love to be printed on every occasion, much less to be dunned and teased by foreigners about mathematical things or to be thought by our own people to be trifling away my time about them when I should be about the king's business.

If my doctor told me I had only six minutes to live, I wouldn't brood. I'd type a little faster.