Trees died so that this could be printed. Let us mourn.
- “Loved, and no sin done! Ay, the world shall see The quest is first–a love less terrible. Yet, as I ride toward the edge of snow That cuts the blue, I think. For even so Comes reason to me: ‘Oh, return, return! What folly is it for two souls to burn With hell’s own fire! What is this quest of woe? What is the end? Consider and discern!’ Banish the thought! My working reason still Is the rebellious vassal to my will, Because I will it. That is God’s own mind. I cast all thought and prudence to the wind: On, to the quest! The cursed parrot hill Mocks on, on, on! The thought is left behind.”
- “Cursed be the kingdom, unfortunate the republic, desolate the city and home from whence the ass is banished, removed, and driven away! Woe to the senses, conscience, and soul where there is no participation in asininity!”
- “Even so, if I had been born in a cannibal island, I should have been constantly agitating for a regular supply of missionaries, and cursed my local Hoover if the distribution was insufficient or the price prohibitive.”
- “I would not have her love a thing so vile, I would not link her life with such as mine! O cursed sin, to leave my soul too high To cheat the shrine! I drave Love forth, Love lingered yet awhile So that I might not quite win Hell before I die.”
- “‘King, you are touched!’ ‘Fight on, Earl Lecherer!’ I cursed him to his face–the added spur Sticks venom in my lunge–a sudden thrust! No cry, no gasp; but he is in the dust, Stark dead. The queen–I hate the name of her! So grew the mustard-seed, one moment’s lust.”