I Cannot Sit And Think; Books Think

There Is A Pleasure In Affecting Affectation.

(the Pig) Hath A Fair Sepulchre In The Grateful Stomach Of The Judicious Epicure - And For Such A Tomb Might Be Content To Die.

If Dirt Were Trumps, What Hands You Would Hold!

We Are Nothing; Less Than Nothing, And Dreams. We Are Only What Might Have Been.

To Be Thankful For What We Grasp Exceeding Our Proportion Is To Add Hypocrisy To Injustice.