Feste the Clown: He is but mad yet, madonna; and the fool shall look to the madman. But indeed words are very rascals since bonds disgraced them. Viola. Thy reason, man? Feste the Clown. Troth, sir, I can yield you none without words; and words are grown so false, I am loath to prove reason with them. Viola. This fellow is wise enough to play the fool; And to do that well craves a kind of wit: This is a practise As full of labour as a wise man's art For folly that he wisely shows is fit; But wise men, folly-fall'n, quite taint their wit. "Twelfth Night" ================================================= In a message dated 10/11/2007 4:18:09 P.M. Eastern Daylight Time, [EMAIL PROTECTED] writes: In [email protected] <mailto:AsburyPark%40yahoogroups.com> , [EMAIL PROTECTED] wrote: > > > > In a message dated 10/11/2007 11:30:30 A.M. Eastern Daylight Time, > [EMAIL PROTECTED] writes: > > May God have mercy on New Jersey. > > I Celebrate New Jersey: >
A wise elder once said upon your death you will be in the Kingdom of whom you celebrate and venerate. As for me and my house we will worship the Lord. As for this clown, he will stay in New Jersey in his next life. "He who celebrate a dieing thing shall die in it's celebration."
