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Young Writers Society


YeOldeYorick


About YeOldeYorick

THIS DREAM THAT WE THOUGHT WE WERE SAFE TO FORGET, TO BURY AND SAY OUR ADIEUS

ON THE DAY OF THE FOOL, DEATH WILL TURN A BLIND EYE, AND YORICK WILL DUST OFF HIS SHOES

WHEN THE REAPER DOTH LAY DOWN HIS TERRIBLE SCYTHE TO FOLLOW THE WARM WEATHER WEST

YORICK, PUT BACK ON YOUR DANCING SHOES, AND RISE UP TO CALL FORTH THE NEXT.


Interests

japes, hoodwinks, capers and cajoles


It had a perfectly round door like a porthole, painted green, with a shiny yellow brass knob in the exact middle. The door opened on to a tube-shaped hall like a tunnel: a very comfortable tunnel without smoke, with panelled walls, and floors tiled and carpeted, provided with polished chairs, and lots and lots of pegs for hats and coats—the hobbit was fond of visitors. The tunnel wound on and on, going fairly but not quite straight into the side of the hill —The Hill, as all the people for many miles round called it—and many little round doors opened out of it, first on one side and then on another.
— JRR Tolkien