Very crooked, indeed.
Which brings up the following notions:
(1) “Don’t argue with the big dog; the big dog is always right.” —The Fugitive
(2)
“A DOLL in the doll-maker’s house
Looks at the cradle and balls:
‘That is an insult to us.’
But the oldest of all the dolls
Who had seen, being kept for show,
Generations of his sort,
Out-screams the whole shelf: ‘Although
There’s not a man can report
Evil of this place,
The man and the woman bring
Hither to our disgrace,
A noisy and filthy thing.’
Hearing him groan and stretch
The doll-maker’s wife is aware
Her husband has heard the wretch,
And crouched by the arm of his chair,
She murmurs into his ear,
Head upon shoulder leant:
‘My dear, my dear, oh dear,
It was an accident.’”
—W.B. Yeats
(3) The J. Geils Band gets its cynicism on, as does (4) Lyle Lovett’s large band.
And, finally, (5) William Butler Yeats closes us out:
“I WHISPERED, ‘I am too young,’
And then, ‘I am old enough’;
Wherefore I threw a penny
To find out if I might love.
‘Go and love, go and love, young man,
If the lady be young and fair,’
Ah, penny, brown penny, brown penny,
I am looped in the loops of her hair.
Oh, love is the crooked thing,
There is nobody wise enough
To find out all that is in it,
For he would be thinking of love
Till the stars had run away,
And the shadows eaten the moon.
Ah, penny, brown penny, brown penny,
One cannot begin it too soon.”
Nobody wise enough. Nobody.
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