The night is a skin pulled over the head of day that the day may be in >>
Well, isn't Bohemia a place where everyone is as good as everyone else >>
We are beginning to wonder whether a servant girl hasn't the best of i >>
And if tonight my soul may find her peace in sleep, and sink in good o >>
Now blessings light on him that first invented this same sleep: it cov >>
Come, cuddle your head on my shoulder, dear, your head like the golden >>
Sleep demands of us a guilty immunity. There is not one of us who, given an eternal incognito, a thumbprint nowhere set against our souls, would not commit rape, murder and all abominations.