The stars are scattered all over the sky like shimmering tears, there must be great pain in the eye from which they trickled.
The power of the people and the power of reason are one.
The life of the wealthy is one long Sunday.
How many women does one need to sing the scale of love all the way up and down?
We are always on stage, even when we are stabbed in earnest at the end.
The statue of Freedom has not been cast yet, the furnace is hot, we can all still burn our fingers.