Those who do not weep, do not see.
where would the shout of love begin, if not from the summit of sacrifice?
God created the flirt as soon as he made the fool.
The last resort of kings, the cannonball. The last resort of the people, the paving stone.
Large, heavy, ragged black clouds hung like crape hammocks beneath the starry cope of the night. You would have said that they were the cobwebs of the firmament.
Taste is the common sense of genius.