1999

Of all the sad words of mouth or pen, the saddest are these: it might have been.

Hold the world but as the world, Gratiano, A stage where every man must play a part, And mine a sad one.

“Then a sentimental passion of a vegetable fashion must excite your languid spleen, An attachment à la Plato for a bashful young potato, or a not-too-French French bean! Though the Philistines may jostle, you will rank as an apostle in the high aesthetic band, If you walk down Piccadilly with a poppy or a lily in your medieval hand.“