In The Mouths Of Many

If I Am Not Worth The Wooing, I Surely Am Not Worth The Winning!

The First Pressure Of Sorrow Crushes Out From Our Hearts The Best Wine; Afterwards The Constant Weight Of It Brings Forth Bitterness, The Taste And Stain From The Lees Of The Vat.

He Had Mittens, Minjekahwun, Magic Mittens Made Of Deer-skin; When Upon His Hands He Wore Them, He Could Smite The Rocks Asunder, He Could Grind Them Into Powder.

A Lady With A Lamp Shall Stand In The Great History Of The Land, A Noble Type Of Good, Heroic Womanhood.

It Is Foolish To Pretend That One Is Fully Recovered From A Disappointed Passion. Such Wounds Always Leave A Scar.