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Keep ancient lands, your storied pomp! cries she
With silent lips. Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tossed to me...
-- Emma Lazarus, "The New Colossus"
Boy, get your head out of the stars above,
You get the maximum pleasure from a minimum of love.
Save your heart and let your body be enough,
To get the maximum pleasure from
🔋 -- 🏓 -- 👳 -- 👽 -- 🐠 -- 📣 -- 👾 -- 💃 -- 😺 -- 💎 -- 📗 -- 🍇 -- 🚙 -- 🎈 -- 👃