No trust is to be placed in women.

There is the heat of Love, the pulsing rush of Longing, the lover’s whisper, irresistible—magic to make the sanest man go mad.

I long for home, long for the sight of home.

One rogue leads another.

We all scribble poetry.

A boy without mischief is like a bowling ball without a liquid center.

Discourse, the sweeter banquet of the mind.