And, ev'n while fashion's brightest arts decoy, The heart distrusting asks, if this be joy. - Oliver Goldsmith

I love everything that's old: old friends, old times, old manners, old books, old wines.

The better sort here pretend to the utmost compassion for animals of every kind. To hear them speak, a stranger would be apt to imagine they could hardly hurt the gnat that stung them: they seem so tender and so full of pity, that one would take them for the harmless friends of the whole creation; the protectors of the meanest insect or reptile that was privileged with existence. And yet, would you believe it? I have seen the very men who have thus boasted of their tenderness, at the same time devouring the flesh of six different animals toasted up in a fricassee. Strange contrariety of conduct! they pity and they eat the objects of their compassion.

I'll be with you in the squeezing of a lemon.