This life's dim windows of the soul Distorts the heavens from pole to pole And leads you to believe a lie When you see with, not through, the eye.
Nothing can be more contemptible than to suppose Public Records to be true.
The thankful receiver bears a plentiful harvest.
The voice of honest indignation is the voice of God.
Excessive sorrow laughs. Excessive joy weeps.
Drive your cart and plow over the bones of the dead.