There's a fascination frantic in a ruin that's romantic.

For duty, duty must be done; The rule applies to everyone.

Saturday afternoon, although occurring at regular and well-foreseen intervals, always takes this railway by surprise.

To sit in solemn silence on a dull, dark dock in a pestilential prison with a life-long lock awaiting the sensation of a short, sharp shock from a cheap and chippy chopper on a big, black block.

I accept refreshment at any hands, however lowly.

When the enterprising burglar isn't burgling; When the cut-throat isn't occupied in crime; He loves to hear the little brook a-gurgling; And listen to the merry village chime.

It isn't so much what's on the table that matters, as what's on the chairs.