And she'll speak no more, no more, To make the heart beat quicker in me; For the owl hooteth, where she lies, Under the alder-tree.

I’ve heard merchants still use an abacus for adding things up in China.

For the youngheads out there, the HipHopHeads, the ones still reppin' they block no matter what, the ones rejecting stereotypes of the hood as pure pathology, the ones not marketing the hood for white-rebellious-fantasies-of-bein'-down, the ones still street-conscious even when you ain't in the streets: beware, don't let the literati get you caught up.

Do it!, stir up your energy until it's swirling around like a leaf storm inside your body.