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.
Save a Thief from Hanging, and he’ll cut your Throat; Jack will never make a Gentleman.
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