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My son – and what's a son? A thing begot
Within a pair of minutes, thereabout:
A lump bred up in darkness.
--
Act III, sc. xia.

 

Thomas Kyd

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For I am every dead thing,
In whom love wrought new alchemy.
For his art did express
A quintessence even from nothingness,
From dull privations, and lean emptiness
He ruined me, and I am re-begot
Of absence, darkness, death; things which are not.

 

John Donne

 

One of life's best coping mechanisms is to know the difference between an inconvenience and a problem. If you break your neck, if you have nothing to eat, if your house is on fire, then you've got a problem. Everything else is an inconvenience. Life is inconvenient. Life is lumpy. A lump in the oatmeal, a lump in the throat and a lump in the breast are not the same kind of lump. One needs to learn the difference.

 

Robert Fulghum

 

Reading what they never wrote,
Just fifteen minutes, huddle up their work,
And with a well-bred whisper close the scene.

 

William Cowper

 

I'd like to start off this show by asking you all a question, cause I don't know the answer. Does anyone know why a pair of sunglasses cost more than a big screen television? Does anybody know? I went to the Sunglass Hut to buy a new pair of sunglasses after I lost my pair. And I see a pair that I like. I don't love them, I like them. $309. So I asked the salesman, very politely, I said, "How do you sleep at night, you f**kin' prick?" And I told him--this is true--that I bought a 25" color television at Wal-Mart for $218. And he says, "Well, apparently, sir, you don't get it." "...I'm listenin'." "These sunglasses block 100% of all UV rays." "No, apparently you don't get it; this thing decodes a digital signal it picks up from outer-f**king-space!" Then I found out the glasses got basic cable and I felt like a dickhead...

 

Ron White

 

Now all the truth is out,
Be secret and take defeat
From any brazen throat,
For how can you compete,
Being honour bred, with one
Who, were it proved he lies,
Were neither shamed in his own
Nor in his neighbours’ eyes?
Bred to a harder thing
Than Triumph, turn away
And like a laughing string
Whereon mad fingers play
Amid a place of stone,
Be secret and exult,
Because of all things known
That is most difficult.

 

William Butler Yeats