One thinks of the cry of the Jew, sonorous through the ages—the Jew, who loved not the sea, but lifted his eyes to the hills, to find his help, and lost himself, between I and thee, in an inflood of blessedness: The Lord shall preserve thy going out and thy coming in, from this time forth, and even for evermore.

... when it's their turn to talk, they speak in coonass blue-collar accents about jonesing for crack and getting UA-ed by probation officers.

They can shake their heads over the seething anger in the Republican electorate, but this nasty and never-ending clown car primary is a problem of their own creation.

An ivy-clad farmhouse surrounded by trees, it stood on the sunny side of a sloping hill at the foot of which the Darigle river curved its way through gold-furzed inches to disappear under a stone bridge into the woods beyond.