Basketball, a game which won't be fit for people until they set the basket umbilicus-high and return the giraffes to the zoo.
Progress might have been all right once, but it's gone on too long.
I am a conscientious man, when I throw rocks at seabirds I leave no tern unstoned.
No matter how deep and dark your pit, how dank your shroud, their heads are heroically unbloody and unbowed.
I think remorse ought to stop biting the consciences that feed it.
I claim there ain't Another Saint As great as Valentine.