The father of a daughter is nothing but a high-class hostage. A father turns a stony face to his sons, berates them, shakes his antlers, paws the ground, snorts, runs them off into the underbrush, but when his daughter puts her arm over his shoulder and says, 'Daddy, I need to ask you something,' he is a pat of butter in a hot frying pan.
To the cheater, there is no such thing as honesty, and to Republicans the idea of serving the public good is counterfeit on the face of it they never felt such an urge, and therefore it must not exist.
Honesty is a rare commodity in a palace, and that is why so many fairy-tale marriages end up on the rocks.
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