If We Can't Be Cordial

A Man Is A Writer If All His Words Are Strung In Definite Sentence Sounds.

The Irish Say Your Trouble Is Their Trouble And Your Joy Their Joy? I Wish I Could Believe It; I Am Troubled, I'm Dissatisfied, I'm Irish.

We Are What We Were At Birth, And Each Trait Has Remained In Conformity With Earth's And With Heaven's Logic: Be The Devil's Tool, Resort To Black Magic, None Can Diverge From The Ends Which Heaven Foreordained.

If We Can't Be Cordial To These Creatures' Fleece, I Think That We Deserve To Freeze.

Your Thorns Are The Best Part Of You.