’Most all the time, the whole year round, there ain’t no flies on me,
But jest ’fore Christmas I’m as good as I kin be!

Who in the lusty stealth of nature take
More composition and fierce quality
Than doth, within a dull, stale, tired bed,
Go to the creating a whole tribe of fops.

Grant that the old Adam in this Child may be so buried, that the new man may be raised up in him.

He knew only that the child was his warrant. He said: If he is not the word of God God never spoke.

We all dream of being a child again, even the worst of us. Perhaps the worst most of all.