"The Moreen" Old Irish Air

The minstrel boy to the war is gone,
In the ranks of death you'll find him;
His father's sword he hath girded on,
And his wild harp slung behind him;
"Land of Song!" cried the warrior bard,
"Tho' all the world betrays thee,
One sword, at least, thy right shall guard,
One faithful harp shall praise thee!"

The Minstrel fell! But the foeman's steel
Could not bring that proud soul under;
The harp he lov'd ne'er spoke again,
For he tore its chords asunder;
And said "No chains shall sully thee,
Thou soul of love and brav'ry!
Thy songs were made for the pure and free
They shall never sound in slavery!

Trekian Proverbs

"As a matter of cosmic history,
it has always been easier to destroy than to create."
-- Mr. Spock, Star Trek

D-I-V-O-R-C-E

"I've never met a couple yet who,
when they were walking down the aisle,
said,
'What we want is three years of happiness,
two years of [torment],
a messy divorce and 15 years of fighting over custody of the kids.' "