Fury iz the tornado ov the inner man, a thunder shower, a blak kloud phull ov litening, a tiger out ov hiz kage, a maniak armed, a bull in fli time.
Fury knows no law only its strength, like a rocket, it whizzes till it busts, and when it haz bust, like a rocket, it iz but a senseless and burnt reed.
Fury iz the argument ov tyrants, and the revenge ov the 95 embecile, the courage ov the kat, and the glowing embers ov dispair.
Fury makes the hornet respektabel, and the pissmire a laffing stok, it makes the eagle allmoste human, and clothes the little wren, battling for her brood, with a halo sublime.
Indeed! indeed!
FITS.
Fits are the moral tumblings ov man’s natur, the bak summersets ov hiz disposishun, the flying trapez ov the kritter himself.
Fits prompt him tew klimb a greast pole, tew fite a wind mill at short range, to go too near a mule’s heels, and to make a kussid phool ov himself generally.
Fits taketh a man bi the end ov hiz noze, and leadeth him into bak lots.
Fits hav no conshience, and no judgment.