If wild my breast and sore my pride, I bask in dreams of suicide, If cool my heart and high my head I think 'How lucky are the dead.
Oh, life is a glorious cycle of song
The sun's gone dim, and the moon's gone black. For I loved him, and he didn't love back.
Scratch a king and find a fool!
When you have to apologize, it is well, I suppose, to get the thing over quickly.
And there was that poor sucker Flaubert rolling around on his floor for three days looking for the right word.