I have learned to speak but fear, in this moment, the real skill is in silence. I am not given to silence, as a rule. At this crisis, I feel underprepared.
Brevity is the soul of wit, so what is this business of keeping my mouth shut? There is nothing for me to say, is there? Is it brief, or is that without beginning without end?
I had come to persuade you from your course, but your sins are done, complete. Shall I preach to the dead?
I’m no prophet, no hell’s harrower. But as the grave, so’s my mouth.
Tale Told 