A Corpse Is Meat Gone Bad. Well

One Great Part Of Every Human Existence Is Passed In A State Which Cannot Be Rendered Sensible By The Use Of Wideawake Language, Cutanddry Grammar And Goahead Plot.

Our Souls, Shame-wounded By Our Sins, Cling To Us Yet More, A Woman To Her Lover Clinging, The More The More.

Evening Had Fallen. A Rim Of The Young Moon Cleft The Pale Waste Of Sky Line, The Rim Of A Silver Hoop Embedded In Grey Sand: And The Tide Was Flowing In Fast To The Land With A Low Whisper Of Her Waves, Islanding A Few Last Figures In Distant Pools.

Good Puzzle Would Be Cross Dublin Without Passing A Pub.

I Will Not Say Nothing. I Will Defend My Church And My Religion When It Is Insulted And Spit On.