"This kind of love is not a product of reasonings and statics--it just comes-none knows whence-and can't explain itself. And doesn't need to." Mark Twain
"Son, what do you want to be when you grow up?"
"A felon!"
"Are you sure?"
"Yah! This kid at school says they get all the girls!"
"I should try that..."
These were autumn mornings, the time of year when kings of old went forth to conquest; and I, never stirring from my little corner in Calcutta, would let my mind wander over the whole world. — Rabindranath Tagore, The Cabuliwallah
