Great oaks grow from little acorns. He has a green thumb. He has green fingers. He’s sowing his wild oats. Here Ceres’ gifts in waving prospect stand, And nodding tempt the joyful reaper’s hand.
There is but one way I know of conversing safely with all men; that is, not by concealing what we say or do, but by saying or doing nothing that deserves to be concealed.
