The Enslaver Is Enslaved, The Hater, Harmed.

Revision Is Its Own Reward.

The Irish Say Your Trouble Is Their Trouble And Your Joy Their Joy? I Wish I Could Believe It; I Am Troubled, I'm Dissatisfied, I'm Irish.

Sun And Moon And Day And Night And Man And Beast Each With A Splendor Which Man In All His Vileness Cannot Set Aside; Each With An Excellence!

Dürer Would Have Seen A Reason For Living In A Town Like This.

We Don't Like Flowers That Do Not Wilt; They Must Die, And Nine She-camel Hairs Aid Memory.