It’s neither Rhime nor Reason; What is got over the Devil’s Back will be spent under his Belly.
Near is my Shirt, but Nearer is my Skin.
The Traceys have always the Wind in their Faces; To cut large Thongs out of another Man’s Leather; Too much of one Thing is good for nothing
A Rolling Stone gathers no Moss; It is good to make Hay while the Sun shines.