Keeping time, time, time, In a sort of Runic rhyme, To the tintinnabulation that so musically wells, From the bells, bells, bells.
Stupidity is a talent for misconception.
We gave him a hearty welcome, for there was nearly half as much of the entertaining as of the contemptible about the man.
In efforts to soar above our nature, we invariably fall below it.
The past is a pebble in my shoe.
The sole purpose is to provide infinite springs, at which the soul may allay the eternal thirst TO KNOW which is forever unquenchable within it, since to quench it, would be to extinguish the soul's self.