For What Can War, But Endless War,

Virtue Hath No Tongue To Check Vice's Pride.

So Much I Feel My Genial Spirits Droop, My Hopes All Flat, Nature Within Me Seems In Her Functions Weary Of Herself.

Biochemically, Love Is Just Like Eating Large Amounts Of Chocolate.

And Out Of Good Still To Find Means Of Evil.

And Live Like Nature's Bastards, Not Her Sons.