Pffft, English. Who Needs That? I'm Never

A Boy Without Mischief Is Like A Bowling Ball Without A Liquid Center.

Close To The Gates A Spacious Garden Lies, From The Storms Defended And Inclement Skies; Four Acres Was The Allotted Space Of Ground, Fenc'd With A Green Enclosure All Around. Tall Thriving Trees Confessed The Fruitful Mold: The Reddening Apple Ripens Here To Gold, Here The Blue Fig With Luscious Juice Overflows, With Deeper Red The Full Pomegranate Glows, The Branch Here Bends Beneath The Weighty Pear, And Verdant Olives Flourish Round The Year.

The Tongue Of Man Is A Twisty Thing, There Are Plenty Of Words There Of Every Kind.

I Have No Interest At All In Food And Drink, But Only In Slaughter And Blood And The Agonized Groans Of Mangled Men

I Can't Even Say The Word 'titmouse' Without Giggling Like A Schoolgirl.