I strive, with wakeful melody, to cheer The sullen gloom, sweet Philomel! like thee, And call the stars to listen: every star Is deaf to mine, enamour’d of thy lay.

Try to lie off the cardinal.

Another news report of law enforcement being corrupted–when does this end?

If the Hound had not been moving, the knife might have cored the apple of his throat; instead it only grazed his ribs, and wound up quivering in the wall near the door. He laughed then, a laugh as cold and hollow as if it had come from the bottom of a deep well.