The Fate Of Man Is Man.

The Righteous One Has No Sense Of Humor.

Recently My Fingers Have Developed A Prejudice Against Comparatives. They All Follow This Pattern: A Squirrel Is Smaller Than A Tree; A Bird Is More Musical Than A Tree. Each Of Us Is The Strongest One In His Or Her Own Skin. Characteristics Should Take Off Their Hats To One Another, Instead Of Spitting In Each Other's Faces.

I Was Called Up In The War And Sent To A Hospital. I Dressed Wounds, Applied Iodine, Gave Enemas, Did Blood Transfusions. If The Doctor Ordered: "brecht, Amputate A Leg!", I Would Reply, "certainly, Your Excellency!", And Cut Off The Leg. If I Was Told, "perform A Trepanning!" I Opened The Man's Skull And Messed About With His Brains. I Saw How They Patched Fellows Up, So As To Cart Them Back To The Front As Quickly As They Could.

Unhappy The Land That Is In Need Of Heroes.

I Don't Trust Him. We're Friends.