Most Grievous Of All Deaths It Is

Pffft, English. Who Needs That? I'm Never Going To England.

No Man Or Woman Born, Coward Or Brave, Can Shun His Destiny.

No Season Now For Calm, Familiar Talk.

One Who Journeying Along A Way He Knows Not, Having Crossed A Place Of Drear Extent, Before Him Sees A River Rushing Swiftly Toward The Deep, And All Its Tossing Current White With Foam, And Stops And Turns, And Measures Back His Way.

Thou Shalt Not Take Moochers Into Thy Hut?