If nothing lets to make us happy both But this my masculine usurp’d attire, Do not embrace me till each circumstance Of place, time, fortune, do cohere, and jump That I am Viola: which to confirm, I’ll bring you to a captain in this town, Where lie my maiden weeds; by whose gentle help I was preserv’d to serve this noble count; All the occurrence of my fortune since Hath been between this lady and this lord.
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Language must cohere—it cannot be left loosely to float or to fly away.
Walt Whitman -- An American Primer -- http://www.theatlantic.com/issues/04apr/primer.htm(retrieved 03/26/08)