Freebsd Fortunes 6

Two wrongs are only the beginning.
                -- Kohn

Two wrongs don't make a right, but they make a good excuse.
                -- Thomas Szasz

Tyger, Tyger, burning bright            Where the hammer?  Where the chain?
In the forests of the night,            In what furnace was thy brain?
What immortal hand or eye               What the anvil?  What dread grasp
Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?        Dare its deadly terrors clasp?

Burnt in distant deeps or skies         When the stars threw down their spears
The cruel fire of thine eyes?           And water'd heaven with their tears
On what wings dare he aspire?           Dare he laugh his work to see?
What the hand dare seize the fire?      Dare he who made the lamb make thee?

And what shoulder & what art            Tyger, Tyger, burning bright
Could twist the sinews of they heart?   In the forests of the night,
And when thy heart began to beat        What immortal hand or eye
What dread hand & what dread feet       Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?

Could fetch it from the furnace deep
And in thy horrid ribs dare steep
In the well of sanguine woe?
In what clay & in what mould
Were thy eyes of fury roll'd?
                -- William Blake, "The Tyger"

Type louder, please.

U:      There's a U -- a Unicorn!
        Run right up and rub its horn.
        Look at all those points you're losing!
        UMBER HULKS are so confusing.
                -- The Roguelet's ABC

Udall's Fourth Law:
        Any change or reform you make
        is going to have consequences you don't like.

UFO's are for real: the Air Force doesn't exist.

Uh-oh -- I've let the cat out of the bag.  Let me, then,
straightforwardly state the thesis I shall now elaborate:
Making variations on a theme is really the crux of creativity.
                -- Douglas R. Hofstadter, "Metamagical Themas"

Ummm, well, OK.  The network's the network, the computer's the computer.
Sorry for the confusion.
                -- Sun Microsystems

Unbearably lovely music is heard as the curtain rises, and we see the
woods on a summer afternoon.  A fawn dances on and nibbles at some
leaves.  He drifts lazily through the soft foliage.  Soon he starts
coughing and drops dead.
                -- Woody Allen, "Without Feathers"