Too much restraint and we will have no more hilarity at funerals.
Being proud of being prudent is a strain of attitudent.
Lack of restraint will land you in a nunnery, too much and you’ll wake in a bordello.
Corral your impulses in public, loose them in private — mind the difference.
Everything we touch we mar; the wise admire the flowers from afar.
Hold your fork or hold your pork.
Give us liberty, and then we’ll all need to get some rest.
A restriction with good diction is nothing more than predilection.
Restraint hears the complaint; license endures the sound of the horrific crash.
For world peace imprison your tongue, bomb your biases, vaporize your revenge.