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Robert Louis Stevenson

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Dear Andrew, with the brindled hair
Who glory to have thrown in air,
High over arm, the trembling reed,
By Ale and Kail, by Till and Tweed.
--
Bk. I, To Andrew Lang.

 
Robert Louis Stevenson

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You can't appreciate home till you've left it, money till it's spent, your wife till she's joined a women's club, nor Old Glory till you see it hanging on a broomstick on the shanty of a consul in a foreign town.

 
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Dear Andrew: Actually, if you bothered acting like a real journalist--not surprised that you don't, since you're affiliated with Dennis McCauly--you would have called the Miami-Dade School Board Member, Mr. Bolanos, who sponsored the Resolution. He would have told you that he was furious that the Herald read that headline, since the Resolution was actually even stronger than what I drafted.
You also could have contacted the school board or gone to their site, and you would have seen that the Resolution was not watered down at all.
It surprises me, Andrew, that you are so ignorant as to the biases of the media that you don't understand that headlines and articles misrepresent the news.
How sad. How pathetic. How watered down your life is. Jack Thompson

 
Jack Thompson
 

Or maybe she decided that an evening with your old tutor would be blisteringly dull and opted for the more exhilarating course of washing her hair instead. Dear me, I know what I would have done. It's only lack of hair that forces me to pursue such a hectic social round these days.

 
Douglas Adams
 

Your father bears an iron reed
Filled with a flame that makes us bleed;
Your kindly mother loves to tear
Feathers and skin to deck her hair.

 
Edward Andrade
 

Oh, sun! that o'er the western mountains now
Goest down in glory! ever beautiful
And blessed is thy radiance, whether thou
Colourest the eastern heaven and night-mist cool,
Till the bright day-star vanish, or on high
Climbest and streamest thy white splendours from mid-sky.

 
William Cullen Bryant
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