The Windy Satisfaction Of The Tongue.

What Is This Word That Broke Through The Fence Of Your Teeth, Atreides?

Wine Can Of Their Wits The Wise Beguile, Make The Sage Frolic, And The Serious Smile

And Empty Words Are Evil.

Just Once I'd Like Someone To Call Me 'sir' Without Adding 'you're Making A Scene.'

One Who Journeying Along A Way He Knows Not, Having Crossed A Place Of Drear Extent, Before Him Sees A River Rushing Swiftly Toward The Deep, And All Its Tossing Current White With Foam, And Stops And Turns, And Measures Back His Way.