Polly Put The Kettle On, We'll All

We All Have Some Experience Of A Feeling, That Comes Over Us Occasionally, Of What We Are Saying And Doing Having Been Said And Done Before, In A Remote Time - Of Our Having Been Surrounded, Dim Ages Ago, By The Same Faces, Objects, And Circumstances.

My Dear If You Could Give Me A Cup Of Tea To Clear My Muddle Of A Head I Should Better Understand Your Affairs.

Now I Am In The Garden At The Back . . . A Very Preserve Of Butterflies As I Remember It, With A High Fence, And A Gate . . . Where The Fruit Clusters On The Trees, Riper And Richer Than Fruit Has Ever Been Since, In Any Other Garden, And Where My Mother Gathers Some In A Basket While I Stand By, Bolting Furtive Gooseberries, And Trying To Look Unnerved.

For Your Popular Rumour, Unlike The Rolling Stone Of The Proverb, Is One Which Gathers A Deal Of Moss In Its Wanderings Up And Down.

Death May Beget Life, But Oppression Can Beget Nothing Other Than Itself.