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Henry David Thoreau
Men talk about Bible miracles because there is no miracle in their lives.
Cease to gnaw that crust. There is ripe fruit over your head.

I have measured out my life with coffee spoons.
T. S. Eliot

CXLVII



My love is as a fever longing still,

For that which longer nurseth the disease;

Feeding on that which doth preserve the ill,

The uncertain sickly appetite to please.

My reason, the physician to my love, 

Angry that his prescriptions are not kept,

Hath left me, and I desperate now approve

Desire is death, which physic did except.

Past cure I am, now Reason is past care,

And frantic-mad with evermore unrest;

My thoughts and my discourse as madmen\'s are,

At random from the truth vainly express\'d;

  For I have sworn thee fair, and thought thee bright,

  Who art as black as hell, as dark as night.

 	--William Shakespeare

Life is one grand, sweet song, so start the music.
Ronald Reagan