Twanty-two harrin’ and t’ree ship’s biscuits, muffined like! Ah, yew doan’t know what muffined biscuits be!

They used to burn witches. How soon til we are burning homosexuals, the inchaste, or those who dance on Sundays?

Sade therefore calls the pure time of suspended history marking an epoch a revolutionary regime; it is the time of the between-times where, between the old laws and the new, there reigns the silence of the absence of laws, an interval that corresponds precisely to the suspension of speech […]

We cherish, too, the poppy red / That grows on fields where valor led; / It seems to signal to the skies / That blood of heroes never dies, / … / And now the torch and poppy red / We wear in honor of our dead. / Fear not that ye have died for naught; / We've learned the lesson that ye taught / In Flanders fields.