Miranda in Miranda's sight is old, gray and dirty; Twenty-nine she was last night; This morning she is thirty.
Man is a victim of dope in the incurable form of hope.
And you stagger down to break your fast. Greasy bacon and lacquered eggs And coffee composed of frigid dregs.
Professional men, they have no cares; whatever happens, they get theirs.
To Tom Carlson or his dog-depending on whose taste it best suits.
I don't mind their having a lot of money, and I don't care how they employ it, but I do think that they damn well ought to admit they enjoy it.