Full of troubles, the mind is still the only Garden of Delight.
If I had found the words I was looking for, I would not have read so much.
Reason is sight. Instinct is touch. Intuition is smell.
Hope, and hopelessness, persist despite the facts.
The lyric deals with love and sorrow, the aphorism with contradiction and deceit.
If you are going to be rude, be quick about it.