Evil isn’t an army that besieges a city from outside the walls. It is a native of the city. It is the mutiny in the garrison, the poison in the water, the ashes in the bread.
A witness cannot give evidence of his age unless he can remember being born.
Westron wynde, when wilt thou blow, The small raine down can raine. Cryst, if my love were in my armes…
of Jack Kerouac That's not writing, that's typing!