The mouth can be better engaged than with a cylinder of rank weed.
Shut your eyes and see.
Shakespeare is the happy huntingground of all minds that have lost their balance.
Secrets, silent, stony sit in the dark palaces of both our hearts: secrets weary of their tyranny: tyrants, willing to be dethroned.
Read your own obituary notice they say you live longer. Gives you second wind. New lease of life.
Rather upsets a man’s day, a funeral does.
People could put up with being bitten by a wolf but what properly riled them was a bite from a sheep.
Our souls, shamewounded by our sins, cling to us yet more, a woman to her lover clinging, the more the more.
Never know whose thoughts you’re chewing.
Nature abhors a vacuum.
Man and woman, love, what is it? A cork and bottle.
Love, yes. Word known to all men.
