You lucubrate every night in your little corner, To fit with the hoi polloi of nature inchoate; Your need of verdant paper subaltern only to the former Suppresses the affection between you and this poet.
The drawing she made of her mother was prima facie a propitiatory offering; more beauty was found in the lineament of the portrait than in reality. The rendering seemed emulous of Toulouse Lautrec, though it was unlikely, as her art studies were her violon d'Ingres, which she enjoyed hermetically.
"For when we have faced down impossible odds, when we've been told we're not ready or that we shouldn't try or that we can't, generations of Americans have responded with a simple creed that sums up the spirit of a people: Yes, we can. Yes, we can. Yes, we can. It was a creed written into the founding documents that declared the destiny of a nation: Yes, we can. It was whispered by slaves and abolitionists as they blazed a trail towards freedom through the darkest of nights: Yes, we can. It was sung by immigrants as they struck out from distant shores and pioneers who pushed westward against an unforgiving wilderness: Yes, we can" ("New Hampshire Primary Defeat Speech", Barack Obama, 2008).
"Why aren't you exercising your nous, Bruce." Said Alfred, "You've been in desuetude lately, the death of Selina Kyle is germane to this, I'm sure." To which Batman responded: "I will not face your obloquy right now, Alfred. I'm effete, please leave me alone."
Non bene pro toto libertas venditur auro;
Pallida mors Aequo pulsat pede pauperum tabernas, Regumque turres.