The melancholy joys of evils pass'd, For he who much has suffer'd, much will know.
Heaven hears and pities hapless men like me, For sacred ev'n to gods is misery.
Without TV, it's hard to know when one day ends and another begins.
Of men who have a sense of honor, more come through alive than are slain, but from those who flee comes neither glory nor any help.
By turns the nine delight to sing
We all scribble poetry.