Not like the brazen giant of Greek fame,
With conquering limbs astride from land to land;
Here at our sea-washed, sunset gates shall stand
A mighty woman with a torch, whose flame
Is the imprisoned lightning, and her name
Mother of Exiles. From her beacon-hand
Glows world-wide welcome; her mild eyes command
The air-bridged harbor that twin cities frame.

"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-tost to me,
I lift my lamp beside the golden door!"

But I knew it was bullshit...

The American Origins of Putin's Madness

Plagiarism and You(Tube)

Sometimes taking the course that I have in my life and the path is like a... maybe a lonely mountain road to some higher elevation peaks, to see the view, to check out something most people don't see. So, you tend to go it alone more. You don't have much company in this.