When greeting foreign leaders he prefers the pomp and circumstance / Then vomits verbal diarrhea to satisfy his sycophants.

When Hope, the eagle that tower’d, could see No cliff beyond him in the sky, His pinions were bent droopingly — And homeward turn’d his soften’d eye.

She was the cross her cuckolded, incompatible husband had to bear, and he was—beneath those fantastic uniforms—the pathetic, uxorious human aggregate of love and good intentions, which, quite frankly, bored her most of the time.

The meddling young officer was striding toward him. “What are you doing here?” Dennison demanded. His own appearance in the corridor at this hour might have been subjectable to inquiry.