We Must Prove To The World That

Look At This Limp Cravet. And The Sad State Of Those Cuffs. I Can Hardly Bring Myself To Look Upon Them.

When They Are Gay, The Waves Echo Their Gaiety; But When They Are Sad, Then Every Breaker, As It Rolls, Seems To Bring Additional Sadness, And To Speak To Us Of Hopelessness And Of The Pettiness Of All Our Joys.

The Weariest Night, The Longest Day, Sooner Or Later Must Perforce Come To An End.

It Is Only When We Are Very Happy That We Can Bear To Gaze Merrily Upon The Vast And Limitless Expanse Of Water, Rolling On And On With Such Persistent, Irritating Monotony, To The Accompaniment Of Our Thoughts, Whether Grave Or Gay.

We Must Prove To The World That We Are All Nincompoops