My sorrow, when she's here with me, Thinks these dark days of autumn rain are beautiful as days can be; She loves the bare, The withered tree; She walks the sodden pasture lane.

Back in my days as a chemistry student, I used to be quite a technocrat. I was firmly convinced that scientists would have cornered god and photographed him in color by 1951.

I don't think the intelligence reports are all that hot. Some days I get more out of the new york times.