Some men say they cannot “tolerate their present ills.” While other believe they could not “endure their cure,” but everyone supports both notions taken simultaneously.
Real Revolutions have no “proper time.” They are always unseasonable affairs, executed by improper people.
Ahoy, mates, let us now pay homage to the Great Rudder, and The Keel of “Man’s Ship Of State,” his ignorance, and his cer-tain-ty. Sail on, my little lovely, sail on, sail on.
You know how they keep re-naming things in the City in their attempt, okay, their successful attempt to change-the-thing? Well, here’s the latest: Instead of calling someone dull or boring, they now refer to them as, “charm impaired.” (Don’t it make you wanna hug ‘em again this week?)
Since you ask, here’s another ad-hoc view, an operational definition of Art: The display of talent not fueled by thoughts of profit. Okay, two more: Intelligence sans deceit: Insight without intrigue.