Monday, October 31, 2011

Suburbs of Our Discontent

"The seasons alter: hoary-headed frosts
Fall in the fresh lap of the crimson rose,
And on old Hiems' thin and icy crown
An odorous chaplet of sweet summer buds
Is, as in mockery, set. The spring, the summer,
The childing autumn, angry winter, change
Their wonted liveries, and the mazed world
By their increase now knows not which is which."
(Midsummer Night's Dream, 2.1.107-114)

Translation: This is seriously f—ed up.

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