Reproach Is Infinite, And Knows

No Tv And No Beer Makes Homer Something Something.

Generations Of Men Are Like The Leaves. In Winter, Winds Blow Them Down To Earth, But Then, When Spring Season Comes Again, The Budding Wood Grows More. And So With Men: One Generation Grows, Another Dies Away.

[but] Age, The Common Enemy Of Mankind, Has Laid His Hand Upon You; Would That It Had Fallen Upon Some Other, And That You Were Still Young.

I Didn't Lie! I Just Created Fiction With My Mouth!

Noblest Minds Are Easiest Bent.