Victorian sorrow: the stars are winking in the sky, but not for us.

I put second things first, and then worry about first things.

I have learned to keep to myself how exceptional I am.

Faith no doubt moves mountains, but not necessarily to where we want them.

Home again, I can groan, scratch, and talk to myself.

Prudence does not save us, but shows us pictures of our destroyers.

Self-deception is nature; hypocrisy is art.