Every time we tell anybody to cheer up, things might be worse, we run away for fear we might be asked to specify how.

I use emacs, which might be thought of as a thermonuclear word processor.

But you can't start. Only a baby can start. You and me- why we're all that's been. The anger of a moment, the thousand pictures, that's us. This land, this red land, is us; and the flood years and the dust years and the drought years are us. We can't start again.

Those palates who, not yet two summers younger, must have inventions to delight the taste, would now be glad of bread, and beg for it.

Written By William Shakespeare

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