Flee the icy Lucifer. Oh he's an awful fellow!
What a mistake! I didn't take a feather from his pillow.
Here's the everlasting rub: neither am I good nor bad.
I'd give up my halo for a horn and the horn for the hat I once had.
I'm only breathing. There's life on my ceiling.
The flies there are sleeping quietly.
Twist my right arm in the dark.
I would give two or three for one of those days that never made impressions on the old score.
I would gladly be a dog barking up the wrong tree.