From the Fishouse

The discovery of Italy’s best wine,
and not alcohol poisoning, is what killed the prelate.

You’ve got to hide your love away,
not because showing it is useless,

but because it isn’t.
Don’t let me get what I want.

I love you as dead people love—in every way imaginable.
Don’t let me bring that cat inside.

If you leave your wife with her beautiful name,
don’t tell me.

See this deer track?
Just walk away.

When he had any, Dostoyevsky threw away his money.
I won’t let you in my house.