Go blundering down the endless slopes of space:
As far away the prospect of reclaiming
The so-called human race.
Gyrate, old Top, and let who will be clever;
The mess we’re in is much too deep to solve.
Me for a quiet life while you, as ever,
Continue to revolve.
“Our editorials,” announces the Tampa Tribune, “are written by members of the staff, and do not necessarily reflect the policy of the paper.” Similarly, the contents of this column are written by its conductor and the straphangers, and have nothing whatever to do with its policy.
“What, indeed?” as Romeo replied to Juliet’s query. And yet Ralph Dilley and Irene Pickle were married in Decatur last week.
He was heard to observe, coming from the theater into the thick of the wind and snow: “God help the rich; the poor can sleep with their windows shut.”