With his protruded ſpear her gentle hand / He wounded, piercing through her thin attire / Ambroſial, by themſelves the Graces wrought, / Her inſide wriſt, faſt by her roſy palm. / Blood follow'd, but immortal; ichor pure, / Such as the bleſt inhabitants of heav'n / May bleed, nectareous; […]
The Masorets, by their great care and diligence, have left us an edition of the Old Testament, which secures the text from all interpolations, while it checks also the licentiousness of conjectural criticism, and gives a definite meaning to many obscure passages; at the same time, it by no means precludes the labours of the learned from aiming at greater accuracy in their attempts to understand Scripture, as the sense which the Masorets may have put upon any passage can only be said to be highly probable: the meaning of Scripture in all cases being derivable from the words, and not from the vowel points, or any arbitrary divisions.
Here was a man who took so much cocaine that he took to keeping his urine in bottles, in the fridge, because he was scared that wizards ‘might steal it’. And yet despite storing his rotting wazz next to his ham, it doesn't stop him being cool.
We’ll have to carry the piano out of the shop.
