The Touch Of Time Does More Than

If We Assiduously Cultivate Our Powers Of Exaggeration, Perhaps We, Too, Shall Obtain The Paradise Of Liars. And There Raphael Shall Paint For Us Scores And Scores Of His Manifestly Impossible Pictures... And Shakespeare Will Lie To Us Of Fabulous Islands Far Past 'the Still-vex'd Bermoothes,' And Bring Us Fresh Tales From The Coast Of Bohemia. For No One Will Speak The Truth There, And We Shall All Be Perfectly Happy.

In The Beginning The Gods Made Man, And Fashioned The Sky And The Sea, And The Earth's Fair Face For Man's Dwelling-place, And This Was The Gods' Decree: "lo, We Have Given To Man Five Wits: He Discerneth Folly And Sin; He Is Swift To Deride All The World Outside, And Blind To The World Within: So That Man May Make Sport And Amuse Us, In Battling For Phrases Or Pelf, Now That Each May Know What Forebodeth Woe To His Neighbor, And Not To Himself.

Time Changes All Things And Cultivates Even In Herself An Appreciation Of Irony, And, Therefore, Why Shouldn't I Have Changed A Trifle?

Why Is The King Of Hearts The Only One That Hasn't A Moustache?

Thou Shalt Not Offend Against The Notions Of Thy Neighbor.