By Turns The Nine Delight To Sing

A Woman Is A Lot Like A Refrigerator. Six Feet Tall, 300 Pounds...it Makes Ice.

Shame Greatly Hurts Or Greatly Helps Mankind.

You Ought Not To Practice Childish Ways, Since You Are No Longer That Age.

Bursts As A Wave That From The Clouds Impends, And Swell'd With Tempests On The Ship Descends; White Are The Decks With Foam; The Winds Aloud Howl O'er The Masts, And Sing Through Every Shroud: Pale, Trembling, Tir'd, The Sailors Freeze With Fears; And Instant Death On Every Wave Appears.

There Is Satiety In All Things, In Sleep, And Love-making, In The Loveliness Of Singing And The Innocent Dance.