The Sight Of Blood To Crowds Begets

[armenian] Is A Rich Language, However, And Would Amply Repay Any One The Trouble Of Learning It.

Sweet Is Old Wine In Bottles, Ale In Barrels.

I Live Not In Myself, But I Become Portion Of That Around Me: And To Me High Mountains Are A Feeling, But The Hum Of Human Cities Torture.

Society Is Now One Polished Horde, Formed Of Two Mighty Tries, The Bores And Bored.

I See Before Me The Gladiator Lie.