She poured a little social sewage into his ears.
The stench of the trail of Ego in our History. It is ego - ego, the fountain cry, origin, sole source of war.
I know him, February's thrush, And loud at eve he valentines On sprays that paw the naked bush Where soon will sprout the thorns and bines.
Faith works miracles. At least it allows time for them.
Speech is the small change of silence.
Friendship, I fancy, means one heart between two.