And how am I to face the odds Of man’s bedevilment and God’s? I, a stranger and afraid In a world I never made. - Alfred Edward Housman

The chestnut casts his flambeaux, and the flowers Stream from the hawthorn on the wind away, The doors clap to, the pane is blind with showers. Pass me the can, lad; there’s an end of May.

Oh many a peer of England brews Livelier liquor than the Muse, And malt does more than Milton can To justify God's ways to man. Ale, man, ale's the stuff to drink For fellows whom it hurts to think.

accuracy is a duty and not a virtue