=head1 NAME

perlepigraphs - list of Perl release epigraphs

=head1 DESCRIPTION

Many Perl release announcements included an I<epigraph>, a short excerpt
from a literary or other creative work, chosen by the pumpking or
release manager.  This file assembles the known list of epigraph for
posterity.

I<Note>: these have also been referred to as <epigrams>, but the
definition of I<epigraph> is closer to the way they have been used.
Consult your favorite dictionary for details.

=head1 EPIGRAPHS

=head2 v5.13.5 - Joseph Sheridan Le Fanu, "The Room in the Dragon Volant"

Candle in hand I stepped in.  I do not know whether the quality of
air, long undisturbed, is peculiar; to me it has always seemed so, and
the damp smell of the old masonry hung in this atmosphere.  My candle
faintly lighted the bare stone wall that enclosed the stair, the foot
of which I could not see.  Down I went, and a few turns brought me to
the stone floor.  Here was another door, of the simple, old, oak kind,
deep sunk in the thickness of the wall.  The large end of the key
fitted this.  The lock was stiff; I set the candle down upon the
stair, and applied both hands; it turned with difficulty, and as it
revolved, uttered a shriek that alarmed me for my secret.

For some minutes I did not move.  In a little time, however, I took
courage, and opened the door.  The night-air floating in puffed out
the candle.  There was a thicket of holly and underwood, as dense as a
jungle, close about the door.  I should have been in pitch-darkness,
were it not that through the topmost leaves there twinkled, here and
there, a glimmer of moonshine.

Softly, lest any one should have opened his window at the sound of the
rusty bolt, I struggled through this till I gained a view of the open
grounds.  Here I found that the brushwood spread a good way up the
park, uniting with the wood that approached the little temple I have
described. 

=head2 v5.13.4 - Lewis Carroll, "Alice's Adventures in Wonderland"

`How the creatures order one about, and make one repeat lessons!' thought Alice;
`I might as well be at school at once.' However, she got up, and began to repeat
it, but her head was so full of the Lobster Quadrille, that she hardly knew what
she was saying, and the words came very queer indeed:--

    "'Tis the voice of the Lobster; I heard him declare,
    "You have baked me too brown, I must sugar my hair."
    As a duck with its eyelids, so he with his nose
    Trims his belt and his buttons, and turns out his toes.'


`That's different from what I used to say when I was a child,' said the Gryphon.

`Well, I never heard it before,' said the Mock Turtle; `but it sounds uncommon
nonsense.'

Alice said nothing; she had sat down with her face in her hands, wondering if
anything would ever happen in a natural way again.

`I should like to have it explained,' said the Mock Turtle.

`She can't explain it,' said the Gryphon hastily. `Go on with the next verse.'

`But about his toes?' the Mock Turtle persisted. `How could he turn them out
with his nose, you know?'

`It's the first position in dancing.' Alice said; but was dreadfully puzzled by
the whole thing, and longed to change the subject.

=head2 v5.13.3 - Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett, "Good Omens"

Look at Crowley, doing 110 mph on the M40 heading towards
Oxfordshire.  Even the most resolutely casual observer would
notice a number of strange things about him.  The clenched teeth,
for example, or the dull red glow coming from behind his
sunglasses.  And the car.  The car was a definite hint.

Crowley had started the journey in his Bentley, and he was
dammned if he wasn't going to finish it in the Bentley as well.
Not that even the kind of car buff who owns his own pair of
motoring goggles would have been able to tell it was a vintage
Bentley.  Not any more.  They wouldn't have been able to tell
that it was a Bentley.  They would only offer fifty-fifty that it
had ever even been a car.

There was no paint left on it, for a start.  It might still have
been black, where it wasn't a rusty, smudged reddish-brown, but
this was a dull charcoal black.  It traveled in its own ball of
flame, like a space capsule making a particularly difficult
re-entry.

There was a thin skin of crusted, melted rubber left around the
metal wheel rims, but seeing that the wheel rims were still
somhow riding an inch above the road surface this didn't seem to
make an awful lot of difference to the suspension.

It should have fallen apart miles back.

=head2 v5.13.2 - Iain M Banks, "Use of Weapons"

We deal in the moral equivalent of black holes, where the normal laws -
the rules of right and wrong that people imagine apply everywhere else
in the universe - break down; beyond those metaphysical event-horizons,
there exist ... special circumstances.

=head2 v5.13.1 - Miguel de Unamuno, "The Sepulchre of Don Quixote"

And if anyone shall come to you and say that he knows how to construct
bridges and that perhaps a time will come when you will wish to avail
yourself of his science in order to cross over a river, out with him!  Out
with the engineer!  Rivers will be crossed by wading or swimming them, even
if half the crusaders drown themselves.  Let the engineer go off and build
bridges somewhere else, where they are badly wanted.  For those who go in
quest of the sepulchre, faith is bridge enough.

=head2 v5.13.0 - Jules Verne, "A Journey to the Centre of the Earth"

The heat still remained at quite a supportable degree. With an
involuntary shudder, I reflected on what the heat must have been
when the volcano of Sneffels was pouring its smoke, flames, and
streams of boiling lava -- all of which must have come up by the
road we were now following. I could imagine the torrents of hot
seething stone darting on, bubbling up with accompaniments of
smoke, steam, and sulphurous stench!

"Only to think of the consequences," I mused, "if the old
volcano were once more to set to work."

=head2 v5.12.1 - Kurt Vonnegut, "Cat's Cradle"

"Now suppose," chortled Dr. Breed, enjoying himself, "that there were
many possible ways in which water could crystallize, could freeze.
Suppose that the sort of ice we skate upon and put into highballs—
what we might call ice-one—is only one of several types of ice.
Suppose water always froze as ice-one on Earth because it had never
had a seed to teach it how to form ice-two, ice-three, ice-four
...? And suppose," he rapped on his desk with his old hand again,
"that there were one form, which we will call ice-nine—a crystal as
hard as this desk—with a melting point of, let us say, one-hundred
degrees Fahrenheit, or, better still, a melting point of one-hundred-
and-thirty degrees."

=head2 v5.12.1-RC2 - Kurt Vonnegut, "Cat's Cradle"

San Lorenzo was fifty miles long and twenty miles wide, I learned from
the supplement to the New York Sunday Times. Its population was four
hundred, fifty thousand souls, "...all fiercely dedicated to the ideals
of the Free World."

Its highest point, Mount McCabe, was eleven thousand feet above sea
level. Its capital was Bolivar, "...a strikingly modern city built on a
harbor capable of sheltering the entire United States Navy." The principal
exports were sugar, coffee, bananas, indigo, and handcrafted novelties.

=head2 v5.12.1-RC2 - Kurt Vonnegut, "Cat's Cradle"

Which brings me to the Bokononist concept of a wampeter.  A wampeter is
the pivot of a karass. No karass is without a wampeter, Bokonon tells us,
just as no wheel is without a hub.  Anything can be a wampeter: a tree,
a rock, an animal, an idea, a book, a melody, the Holy Grail. Whatever
it is, the members of its karass revolve about it in the majestic chaos
of a spiral nebula. The orbits of the members of a karass about their
common wampeter are spiritual orbits, naturally. It is souls and not
bodies that revolve. As Bokonon invites us to sing:

   Around and around and around we spin,
   With feet of lead and wings of tin . . .

=head2 v5.12.0 - Lewis Carroll, "Alice's Adventures in Wonderland"

'Please would you tell me,' said Alice, a little timidly, for she was
not quite sure whether it was good manners for her to speak first, 'why
your cat grins like that?'

'It's a Cheshire cat,' said the Duchess, 'and that's why. Pig!'

She said the last word with such sudden violence that Alice quite
jumped; but she saw in another moment that it was addressed to the baby,
and not to her, so she took courage, and went on again:--

'I didn't know that Cheshire cats always grinned; in fact, I didn't know
that cats COULD grin.'

'They all can,' said the Duchess; 'and most of 'em do.'

=head2 v5.12.0-RC5 - Lewis Carroll, "Alice's Adventures in Wonderland"

'Not QUITE right, I'm afraid,' said Alice, timidly; 'some of the words
have got altered.'

'It is wrong from beginning to end,' said the Caterpillar decidedly, and
there was silence for some minutes.

=head2 v5.12.0-RC4 - Lewis Carroll, "Alice's Adventures in Wonderland"

'It was much pleasanter at home,' thought poor Alice, 'when one wasn't
always growing larger and smaller, and being ordered about by mice and
rabbits. I almost wish I hadn't gone down that rabbit-hole--and yet--and
yet--it's rather curious, you know, this sort of life! I do wonder what
can have happened to me! When I used to read fairy-tales, I fancied that
kind of thing never happened, and now here I am in the middle of one!

=head2 v5.12.0-RC3 - Lewis Carroll, "Alice's Adventures in Wonderland"

At last the Mouse, who seemed to be a person of authority among them,
called out, 'Sit down, all of you, and listen to me! I'LL soon make you
dry enough!' They all sat down at once, in a large ring, with the Mouse
in the middle. Alice kept her eyes anxiously fixed on it, for she felt
sure she would catch a bad cold if she did not get dry very soon.

'Ahem!' said the Mouse with an important air, 'are you all ready? This
is the driest thing I know. Silence all round, if you please! "William
the Conqueror, whose cause was favoured by the pope, was soon submitted
to by the English, who wanted leaders, and had been of late much
accustomed to usurpation and conquest. Edwin and Morcar, the earls of
Mercia and Northumbria—"'

=head2 v5.12.0-RC2 - no epigraph

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=head2 v5.12.0-RC1 - Lewis Carroll, "Alice's Adventures in Wonderland"

So she was considering in her own mind (as well as she could, for the
hot day made her feel very sleepy and stupid), whether the pleasure of
making a daisy-chain would be worth the trouble of getting up and
picking the daisies, when suddenly a White Rabbit with pink eyes ran
close by her.

There was nothing so VERY remarkable in that; nor did Alice think it so
VERY much out of the way to hear the Rabbit say to itself, 'Oh dear! Oh
dear! I shall be late!' (when she thought it over afterwards, it
occurred to her that she ought to have wondered at this, but at the time
it all seemed quite natural); but when the Rabbit actually TOOK A WATCH
OUT OF ITS WAISTCOAT-POCKET, and looked at it, and then hurried on,
Alice started to her feet, for it flashed across her mind that she had
never before seen a rabbit with either a waistcoat-pocket, or a watch to
take out of it, and burning with curiosity, she ran across the field
after it, and fortunately was just in time to see it pop down a large
rabbit-hole under the hedge.

In another moment down went Alice after it, never once considering how
in the world she was to get out again.

=head2 v5.12.0-RC0 - no epigraph

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=head2 v5.11.5 - Samuel Taylor Coleridge, "Christabel"

    A little child, a limber elf,
    Singing, dancing to itself,
    A fairy thing with red round cheeks,
    That always finds, and never seeks,
    Makes such a vision to the sight
    As fills a father's eyes with light;
    And pleasures flow in so thick and fast
    Upon his heart, that he at last
    Must needs express his love's excess
    With words of unmeant bitterness.
    Perhaps 'tis pretty to force together
    Thoughts so all unlike each other;
    To mutter and mock a broken charm,
    To dally with wrong that does no harm.
    Perhaps 'tis tender too and pretty
    At each wild word to feel within
    A sweet recoil of love and pity.
    And what, if in a world of sin
    (O sorrow and shame should this be true!)
    Such giddiness of heart and brain
    Comes seldom save from rage and pain,
    So talks as it's most used to do.

=head2 v5.11.4 - Fyodor Dostoevsky, "Crime and Punishment"

And you don't suppose that I went into it headlong like a fool? I went
into it like a wise man, and that was just my destruction. And you
mustn't suppose that I didn't know, for instance, that if I began to
question myself whether I had the right to gain power -- I certainly
hadn't the right -- or that if I asked myself whether a human being is a
louse it proved that it wasn't so for me, though it might be for a man
who would go straight to his goal without asking questions.... If I
worried myself all those days, wondering whether Napoleon would have
done it or not, I felt clearly of course that I wasn't Napoleon.

=head2 v5.11.3 - Mark Twain, "The Adventures of Tom Sawyer"

"Say -- I'm going in a swimming, I am. Don't you wish you could? But of
course you'd druther work—wouldn't you? Course you would!"

Tom contemplated the boy a bit, and said: "What do you call work?"

"Why ain't that work?"

Tom resumed his whitewashing, and answered carelessly: "Well, maybe it
is, and maybe it aint. All I know, is, it suits Tom Sawyer."

"Oh come, now, you don't mean to let on that you like it?"

The brush continued to move. "Like it? Well I don't see why I oughtn't
to like it. Does a boy get a chance to whitewash a fence every day?"

That put the thing in a new light. Ben stopped nibbling his apple. Tom
swept his brush daintily back and forth -- stepped back to note the effect
-- added a touch here and there-criticised the effect again -- Ben
watching every move and getting more and more interested, more and more
absorbed. Presently he said: "Say, Tom, let me whitewash a little."


=head2 v5.11.2 - Michael Marshall Smith, "Only Forward"

The streets were pretty quiet, which was nice. They're always quiet here
at that time: you have to be wearing a black jacket to be out on the
streets between seven and nine in the evening, and not many people in
the area have black jackets. It's just one of those things. I currently
live in Colour Neighbourhood, which is for people who are heavily into
colour.  All the streets and buildings are set for instant colourmatch:
as you walk down the road they change hue to offset whatever you're
wearing.  When the streets are busy it's kind of intense, and anyone
prone to epileptic seizures isn't allowed to live in the Neighbourhood,
however much they're into colour.

=head2 v5.11.1 - Joseph Heller, "Catch-22"

Milo had been caught red-handed in the act of plundering his countrymen,
and, as a result, his stock had never been higher. He proved good as his
word when a rawboned major from Minnesota curled his lip in rebellious
disavowal and demanded his share of the syndicate Milo kept saying
everybody owned. Milo met the challenge by writing the words "A Share"
on the nearest scrap of paper and handing it away with a virtuous disdain
that won the envy and admiration of almost everyone who knew him. His
glory was at a peak, and Colonel Cathcart, who knew and admired his
war record, was astonished by the deferential humility with which Mil
presented himself at Group Headquarters and made his fantastic appeal
for more hazardous assignment.

=head2 v5.11.0 - Mikhail Bulgakov, "The Master and Margarita"

Whispers of an "evil power" were heard in lines at dairy shops, in
streetcars, stores, arguments, kitchens, suburban and long-distance
trains, at stations large and small, in dachas and on beaches.  Needless
to say, truly mature and cultured people did not tell these stories
about an evil power's visit to the capital. In fact, they even made fun
of them and tried to talk sense into those who told them. Nevertheless,
facts are facts, as they say, and cannot simply be dismissed without
explanation: somebody had visited the capital. The charred cinders of
Griboyedov alone, and many other things besides, confirmed it.  Cultured
people shared the point of view of the investigating team: it was the
work of a gang of hypnotists and ventriloquists magnificently skilled in
their art.


=head2 v5.10.1 - Right Hon. James Hacker MP, "The Complete Yes Minister: The Diaries of a Cabinet Minister"

'Briefly, sir, I am the Permanent Under-Secretary of State, known as
the Permanent Secretary. Woolley here is your Principal Private
Secretary. I, too, have a Principal Private Secretary, and he is the
Principal Private Secretary to the Permanent Secretary. Directly
responsible to me are ten Deputy Secretaries, eighty-seven Under
Secretaries and two hundred and nineteen Assistant Secretaries.
Directly responsible to the Principal Private Secretaries are plain
Private Secretaries. The Prime Minister will be appointing two
Parliamentary Under-Secretaries and you will be appointing your own
Parliamentary Private Secretary.'

'Can they all type?' I joked.

'None of us can type, Minister,' replied Sir Humphrey smoothly. 'Mrs
McKay types - she is your Secretary.'

I couldn't tell whether or not he was joking. 'What a pity,' I said.
'We could have opened an agency.'

Sir Humphrey and Bernard laughed. 'Very droll, sir,' said Sir
Humphrey.  'Most amusing, sir,' said Bernard. Were they genuinely
amused at my wit, or just being rather patronising? 'I suppose they
all say that, do they?' I ventured.

Sir Humphrey reassured me on that. 'Certainly not, Minister,' he
replied. 'Not quite all.'

=head2 v5.10.1-RC2 - no epigraph

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=head2 v5.10.1-RC1 - no epigraph

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=head2 v5.10.0 - Laurence Sterne, "Tristram Shandy"

He would often declare, in speaking his thoughts upon the subject, that
he did not conceive how the greatest family in England could stand it
out against an uninterrupted succession of six or seven short
noses.--And for the contrary reason, he would generally add, That it
must be one of the greatest problems in civil life, where the same
number of long and jolly noses, following one another in a direct line,
did not raise and hoist it up into the best vacancies in the kingdom.

=head2 v5.10.0-RC2 - no epigraph

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=head2 v5.10.0-RC1 - no epigraph

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=head2 v5.9.5 - no epigraph

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=head2 v5.9.4 - no epigraph

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=head2 v5.9.3 - no epigraph

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=head2 v5.9.2 - Thomas Pynchon, "V"

This word flip was weird. Every recording date of McClintic's he'd
gotten into the habit of talking electricity with the audio men and
technicians of the studio. McClintic once couldn't have cared less
about electricity, but now it seemed if that was helping him reach a
bigger audience, some digging, some who would never dig, but all
paying and those royalties keeping the Triumph in gas and McClintic
in J. Press suits, then McClintic ought to be grateful to
electricity, ought maybe to learn a little more about it. So he'd
picked up some here and there, and one day last summer he got around
to talking stochastic music and digital computers with one
technician. Out of the conversation had come Set/Reset, which was
getting to be a signature for the group. He had found out from this
sound man about a two-triode circuit called a flip-flop, which when
it turned on could be one of two ways, depending on which tube was
conducting and which was cut off: set or reset, flip or flop.

"And that," the man said, "can be yes or no, or one or zero. And
that is what you might call one of the basic units, or specialized
`cells' in a big `electronic brain.' "

"Crazy," said McClintic, having lost him back there someplace. But
one thing that did occur to him was if a computer's brain could go
flip or flop, why so could a musician's. As long as you were flop,
everything was cool. But where did the trigger-pulse come from to
make you flip?

=head2 v5.9.1 - Tom Stoppard, "Arcadia"

Aren't you supposed to have a pony?

=head2 v5.9.0 - Doris Lessing, "Martha Quest"

What of October, that ambiguous month

=head2 v5.8.9 - Right Hon. James Hacker MP, "The Complete Yes Minister: The Diaries of a Cabinet Minister"

Frank and I, unlike the civil servants, were still puzzled that such a
proposal as the Europass could even be seriously under consideration by
the FCO. We can both see clearly that it is wonderful ammunition for the
anti-Europeans. I asked Humphrey if the Foreign Office doesn't realise
how damaging this would be to the European ideal?

'I'm sure they do, Minister, he said. That's why they support it.'

This was even more puzzling, since I'd always been under the impression
that the FO is pro-Europe. 'Is it or isn't it?' I asked Humphrey.

'Yes and no,' he replied of course, 'if you'll pardon the
expression. The Foreign Office is pro-Europe because it is really
anti-Europe. In fact the Civil Service was united in its desire to make
sure the Common Market didn't work. That's why we went into it.'

This sounded like a riddle to me. I asked him to explain further. And
basically his argument was as follows: Britain has had the same foreign
policy objective for at least the last five hundred years - to create a
disunited Europe. In that cause we have fought with the Dutch against
the Spanish, with the Germans against the French, with the French and
Italians against the Germans, and with the French against the Italians
and Germans. [The Dutch rebellion against Phillip II of Spain, the
Napoleonic Wars, the First World War, and the Second World War - Ed.]

In other words, divide and rule. And the Foreign Office can see no
reason to change when it has worked so well until now.

I was aware of this, naturally, but I regarded it as ancient history.
Humphrey thinks that it is, in fact, current policy. It was necessary
for us to break up the EEC, he explained, so we had to get inside. We
had previously tried to break it up from the outside, but that didn't
work. [A reference to our futile and short-lived involvement in EFTA,
the European Free Trade Association, founded in 1960 and which the UK
left in 1972 - Ed.] Now that we're in, we are able to make a complete
pig's breakfast out of it. We've now set the Germans against the French,
the French against the Italians, the Italians against the Dutch... and
the Foreign office is terribly happy. It's just like old time.

I was staggered by all of this. I thought that the all of us who are
publicly pro-European believed in the European ideal. I said this to Sir
Humphrey, and he simply chuckled.

So I asked him: if we don't believe in the European Ideal, why are we
pushing to increase the membership?

'Same reason,' came the reply. 'It's just like the United Nations. The
more members it has, the more arguments you can stir up, and the more
futile and impotent it becomes.'

This all strikes me as the most appalling cynicism, and I said so.

Sir Humphrey agreed completely. 'Yes Minister. We call it
diplomacy. It's what made Britain great, you know.'

=head2 v5.8.9-RC2 - Right Hon. James Hacker MP, "The Complete Yes Minister: The Diaries of a Cabinet Minister"

There was silence in the office. I didn't know what we were going to do
about the four hundred new people supervising our economy drive or the
four hundred new people for the Bureaucratic Watchdog Office, or
anything! I simply sat and waited and hoped that my head would stop
thumping and that some idea would be suggested by someone sometime soon.

Sir Humphrey obliged. 'Minister... if we were to end the economy drive
and close the Bureaucratic Watchdog Office we could issue an immediate
press announcement that you had axed eight hundred jobs.' He had
obviously thought this out carefully in advance, for at this moment he
produced a slim folder from under his arm. 'If you'd like to approve
this draft...'

I couldn't believe the impertinence of the suggestion. Axed eight
hundred jobs? 'But no one was ever doing these jobs,' I pointed out
incredulously. 'No one's been appointed yet.'

'Even greater economy,' he replied instantly. 'We've saved eight hundred
redundancy payments as well.'

'But...' I attempted to explain '... that's just phony. It's dishonest,
it's juggling with figures, it's pulling the wool over people's eyes.'

'A government press release, in fact.' said Humphrey.

=head2 v5.8.9-RC1 - Right Hon. James Hacker MP, "The Complete Yes Minister: The Diaries of a Cabinet Minister"

A jumbo jet touched down, with BURANDAN AIRWAYS written on the side. I
was hugely impressed. British Airways are having to pawn their Concordes,
and here is this little tiny African state with its own airline, jumbo
jets and all.

I asked Bernard how many planes Burandan Airways had. 'None,' he said.

I told him not to be silly and use his eyes. 'No Minister, it belongs to
Freddie Laker,' he said. 'They chartered it last week and repainted it
specially.' Apparently most of the Have-Nots (I mean, LDCs) do this - at
the opening of the UN General Assembly the runways of Kennedy Airport are
jam-packed with phoney flag-carriers. 'In fact,' said Bernard with a sly
grin, 'there was one 747 that belonged to nine different African airlines
in a month. They called it the mumbo-jumbo.'

While we watched nothing much happening on the TV except the mumbo-jumbo
taxiing around Prestwick and the Queen looking a bit chilly, Bernard gave
me the next day's schedule and explained that I was booked on the night
sleeper from King's Cross to Edinburgh because I had to vote in a
three-line whip at the House tonight and would have to miss the last
plane. Then the commentator, in that special hushed BBC voice used for any
occasion with which Royalty is connected, announced reverentially that we
were about to catch our first glimpse of President Selim.

And out of the plane stepped Charlie. My old friend Charlie Umtali. We
were at LSE together. Not Selim Mohammed at all, but Charlie.

Bernard asked me if I were sure. Silly question. How could you forget a
name like Charlie Umtali?

I sent Bernard for Sir Humphrey, who was delighted to hear that we now
know something about our official visitor.

Bernard's official brief said nothing. Amazing! Amazing how little the FCO
has been able to find out. Perhaps they were hoping it would all be on the
car radio. All the brief says is that Colonel Selim Mohammed had converted
to Islam some years ago, they didn't know his original name, and therefore
knew little of his background.

I was able to tell Humphrey and Bernard /all/ about his background.
Charlie was a red-hot political economist, I informed them. Got the top
first. Wiped the floor with everyone.

Bernard seemed relieved. 'Well that's all right then.'

'Why?' I enquired.

'I think Bernard means,' said Sir Humphrey helpfully, 'that he'll know how
to behave if he was at an English University. Even if it was the LSE.' I
never know whether or not Humphrey is insulting me intentionally.

Humphrey was concerned about Charlie's political colour. 'When you said
that he was red-hot, were you speaking politically?'

In a way I was. 'The thing about Charlie is that you never quite know
where you are with him. He's the sort of chap who follows you into a
revolving door and comes out in front.'

'No deeply held convictions?' asked Sir Humphrey.

'No. The only thing Charlie was committed too was Charlie.'

'Ah, I see. A politician, Minister.'

=head2 v5.8.8 - Joe Raposo, "Bein' Green"

    It's not that easy bein' green
    Having to spend each day the color of the leaves
    When I think it could be nicer being red or yellow or gold
    Or something much more colorful like that

    It's not easy bein' green
    It seems you blend in with so many other ordinary things
    And people tend to pass you over 'cause you're
    Not standing out like flashy sparkles in the water
    Or stars in the sky

    But green's the color of Spring
    And green can be cool and friendly-like
    And green can be big like an ocean
    Or important like a mountain
    Or tall like a tree

    When green is all there is to be
    It could make you wonder why, but why wonder why?
    Wonder I am green and it'll do fine, it's beautiful
    And I think it's what I want to be

=head2 v5.8.8-RC1 - Cosgrove Hall Productions, "Dangermouse"

  Greenback: And the world is mine, all mine. Muhahahahaha. See to it!

  Stiletto: Si, Barone. Subito, Barone.

=head2 v5.8.7 - Sergei Prokofiev, "Peter and the Wolf"

And now, imagine the triumphant procession: Peter at the head; after him the
hunters leading the wolf; and winding up the procession, grandfather and the
cat.

Grandfather shook his head discontentedly: "Well, and if Peter hadn't caught
the wolf? What then?"

=head2 v5.8.7-RC1 - Sergei Prokofiev, "Peter and the Wolf"

And now this is how things stood: The cat was sitting on one branch. The
bird on another, not too close to the cat. And the wolf walked round and
round the tree, looking at them with greedy eyes.

In the meantime, Peter, without the slightest fear, stood behind the
gate, watching all that was going on. He ran home,got a strong rope and
climbed up the high stone wall.

One of the branches of the tree, around which the wolf was walking,
stretched out over the wall.

Grabbing hold of the branch, Peter lightly climbed over on to the tree.
Peter said to the bird: "Fly down and circle round the wolf's head, only
take care that he doesn't catch you!".

The bird almost touched the wolf's head with its wings, while the wolf
snapped angrily at him from this side and that.

How that bird teased the wolf, how that wolf wanted to catch him! But
the bird was clever and the wolf simply couldn't do anything about it.

=head2 v5.8.6 - A. A. Milne, "The House at Pooh Corner"

"Hallo, Pooh," said Piglet, giving a jump of surprise. "I knew it was
you."

"So did I,", said Pooh.  "What are you doing?"

"I'm planting a haycorn, Pooh, so that it can grow up into an oak-tree,
and have lots of haycorns just outside the front door instead of having
to walk miles and miles, do you see, Pooh?"

"Supposing it doesn't?" said Pooh.

"It will, because Christopher Robin says it will, so that's why I'm
planting it."

"Well," aid Pooh, "if I plant a honeycomb outside my house, then it will
grow up into a beehive."

Piglet wasn't quite sure about this.

"Or a /piece/ of a honeycomb," said Pooh, "so as not to waste too much.
Only then I might only get a piece of a beehive, and it might be the
wrong piece, where the bees were buzzing and not hunnying. Bother"

Piglet agreed that that would be rather bothering.

"Besides, Pooh, it's a very difficult thing, planting unless you know
how to do it," he said; and he put the acorn in the hole he had made,
and covered it up with earth, and jumped on it.

=head2 v5.8.6-RC1 - A. A. Milne, "Winnie the Pooh"

"Hallo!" said Piglet, "whare are /you/ doing?"

"Hunting," said Pooh.

"Hunting what?"

"Tracking something," said Winnie-the-Pooh very mysteriously.

"Tracking what?" said Piglet, coming closer.

"That's just what I ask myself, I ask myself, What?"

"What do you think you'll answer?"

"I shall have to wait until I catch up with it," said Winnie-the-Pooh.
"Now, look there." He pointed to the ground in front of him. "What do
you see there?"

"Track," said Piglet. "Paw-marks." He gave a little squeak of
excitement.  "Oh, Pooh!" Do you think it's a--a--a Woozle?"

=head2 v5.8.5 - wikipedia, "Yew"

Yews are relatively slow growing trees, widely used in landscaping and
ornamental horticulture. They have flat, dark-green needles, reddish
bark, and bear seeds with red arils, which are eaten by thrushes,
waxwings and other birds, dispersing the hard seeds undamaged in their
droppings. Yew wood is reddish brown (with white sapwood), and very
hard. It was traditionally used to make bows, especially the English
longbow.

In England, the Common Yew (Taxus baccata, also known as English Yew) is
often found in churchyards. It is sometimes suggested that these are
placed there as a symbol of long life or trees of death, and some are
likely to be over 3,000 years old. It is also suggested that yew trees
may have a pre-Christian association with old pagan holy sites, and the
Christian church found it expedient to use and take over existing sites.
Another explanation is that the poisonous berries and foliage discourage
farmers and drovers from letting their animals wander into the burial
grounds. The yew tree is a frequent symbol in the Christian poetry of
T.S. Eliot, especially his Four Quartets.

=head2 v5.8.5-RC2 - wikipedia, "Beech"

Beeches are trees of the Genus Fagus, family Fagaceae, including about
ten species in Europe, Asia, and North America. The leaves are entire or
sparsely toothed. The fruit is a small, sharply-angled nut, borne in
pairs in spiny husks. The beech most commonly grown as an ornamental or
shade tree is the European beech (Fagus sylvatica).

The southern beeches belong to a different but related genus,
Nothofagus. They are found in Australia, New Zealand, New Guinea, New
Caledonia and South America.

=head2 v5.8.5-RC1 - wikipedia, "Pedunculate Oak" (abridged)

The Pedunculate Oak is called the Common Oak  in Britain, and is also
often called the English Oak in other English speaking countries It is a
large deciduous tree to 25-35m tall (exceptionally to 40m), with lobed
and sessile (stalk-less) leaves. Flowering takes place in early to mid
spring, and their fruit, called "acorns", ripen by autumn of the same
year. The acorns are pedunculate (having a peduncle or acorn-stalk) and
may occur singly, or several acorns may occur on a stalk.

It forms a long-lived tree, with a large widespreading head of rugged
branches. While it may naturally live to an age of a few centuries, many
of the oldest trees are pollarded or coppiced, both pruning techniques
that extend the tree's potential lifespan, if not its health.

Within its native range it is valued for its importance to insects and
other wildlife. Numerous insects live on the leaves, buds, and in the
acorns. The acorns form a valuable food resource for several small
mammals and some birds, notably Jays Garrulus glandarius.

It is planted for forestry, and produces a long-lasting and durable
heartwood, much in demand for interior and furniture work.

=head2 v5.8.4 - T. S. Eliot, "The Old Gumbie Cat"

  I have a Gumbie Cat in mind, her name is Jennyanydots;
  The curtain-cord she likes to wind, and tie it into sailor-knots.
  She sits upon the window-sill, or anything that's smooth and flat:
  She sits and sits and sits and sits -- and that's what makes a Gumbie Cat!

  But when the day's hustle and bustle is done,
  Then the Gumbie Cat's work is but hardly begun.
  She thinks that the cockroaches just need employment
  To prevent them from idle and wanton destroyment.
  So she's formed, from that a lot of disorderly louts,
  A troop of well-disciplined helpful boy-scouts,
  With a purpose in life and a good deed to do--
  And she's even created a Beetles' Tattoo.

  So for Old Gumbie Cats let us now give three cheers --
  On whom well-ordered households depend, it appears.


=head2 v5.8.4-RC2 - T. S. Eliot, "Macavity: The Mystery Cat"

  Macavity's a Mystery Cat: he's called the Hidden Paw --
  For he's the master criminal who can defy the Law.
  He's the bafflement of Scotland Yard, the Flying Squad's despair:
  For when they reach the scene of crime -- /Macavity's not there/!

  Macavity, Macavity, there's no one like Macavity,
  He's broken every human law, he breaks the law of gravity.
  His powers of levitation would make a fakir stare,
  And when you reach the scene of crime -- /Macavity's not there/!
  You may seek him in the basement, you may look up in the air --
  But I tell you once and once again, /Macavity's not there/!

=head2 v5.8.4-RC1 - T. S. Eliot, "Skimbleshanks: The Railway Cat"

  There's a whisper down the line at 11.39
  When the Night Mail's ready to depart,
  Saying 'Skimble where is Skimble has he gone to hunt the thimble?
  We must find him of the train can't start.'
  All the guards and all the porters and the stationmaster's daughters
  They are searching high and low,
  Saying 'Skimble where is Skimble for unless he's very nimble
  Then the Night Mail just can't go'
  At 11.42 then the signal's overdue
  And the passengers are frantic to a man--
  Then Skimble will appear and he'll saunter to the rear:
  He's been busy in the luggage van!
  He gives one flash of his glass-green eyes
  And the the signal goes 'All Clear!'
  And we're off at last of the northern part
  Of the Northern Hemisphere!

=head2 v5.8.3 - Arthur William Edgar O'Shaugnessy, "Ode"

  We are the music makers,
  And we are the dreamers of dreams,
  Wandering by lonely sea-breakers,
  And sitting by desolate streams; --
  World-losers and world-forsakers,
  On whom the pale moon gleams:
  Yet we are the movers and shakers
  Of the world for ever, it seems.

=head2 v5.8.3-RC1 - Irving Berlin, "Let's Face the Music and Dance"

  There may be trouble ahead,
  But while there's music and moonlight,
  And love and romance,
  Let's face the music and dance.

  Before the fiddlers have fled,
  Before they ask us to pay the bill,
  And while we still have that chance,
  Let's face the music and dance.

  Soon, we'll be without the moon,
  Humming a different tune, and then,

  There may be teardrops to shed,
  So while there's music and moonlight,
  And love and romance,
  Let's face the music and dance.

=head2 v5.8.2 - Walt Whitman, "Passage to India"

  Passage, immediate passage! the blood burns in my veins!
  Away O soul! hoist instantly the anchor!
  Cut the hawsers - hall out - shake out every sail!
  Have we not stood here like trees in the ground long enough?
  Have we not grovel'd here long enough, eating and drinking like mere brutes?
  Have we not darken'd and dazed ourselves with books long enough?

  Sail forth - steer for the deep waters only,
  Reckless O soul, exploring, I with the and thou with me,
  For we are bound where mariner has not yet dared to go,
  And we will risk the ship, ourselves and all.

  O my brave soul!
  O farther farther sail!
  O daring job, but safe! are they not all the seas of God?
  O farther, farther, farther sail!

=head2 v5.8.2-RC2 - Eric Idle/John Du Prez, "Accountancy Shanty"

  It's fun to charter an accountant
  And sail the wide accountan-cy,
  To find, explore the funds offshore
  And skirt the shoals of bankruptcy.

=head2 v5.8.2-RC1 - Edward Lear, "The Jumblies"

  They went to sea in a Sieve, they did,
    In a Sieve they went to sea:
  In spite of all their friends could say,
  On a winter's morn, on a stormy day,
    In a Sieve they went to sea!
  And when the Sieve turned round and round,
  And everyone cried, "You'll all be drowned!"
  They cried aloud, "Our Sieve ain't big,
    But we don't care a button, we don't care a fig!
      In a Sieve we'll go to sea!"

  Far and few, far and few,
    Are the lands where the Jumblies live;
  Their heads are green, and their hands are blue,
    And they went to sea in a Sieve.

=head2 v5.8.1 - Terry Pratchett, "The Color of Magic"

"What happens next?" asked Twoflower.

Hrun screwed a finger in his ear and inspected it absently.

"Oh,", he said, "I expect in a minute the door will be
flung back and I'll be dragged off to some sort of temple
arena where I'll fight maybe a couple of giant spiders
and an eight-foot slave from the jungles of Klatch and then
I'll rescue some kind of a princess from the altar and then
I'll kill off a few guards or whatever and then this girl
will show me the secret passage out of the place and we'll
liberate a couple of horses and escape with the treasure."
Hrun leaned his head back on his hands and looked at the
ceiling, whistling tunelessly.

"All that?" said Twoflower.

"Usually."

=head2 v5.8.1-RC5 - Terry Pratchett, "Lords and Ladies"

No matter what she did with her hair it took about
three minutes for it to tangle itself up again,
like a garden hosepipe in a shed [Footnote: Which,
no matter how carefully coiled, will always uncoil
overnight and tie the lawnmower to the bicycles].

=head2 v5.6.2 - Sterne, "Tristram Shandy"

When great or unexpected events fall out upon the stage of this
sublunary word--the mind of man, which is an inquisitive kind of
a substance, naturally takes a flight, behind the scenes, to see
what is the cause and first spring of them--The search was not
long in this instance.

=head2 v5.6.2-RC1 - Sterne, "Tristram Shandy"

"Pray, my dear", quoth my mother, "have you not forgot to wind up the clock?"

=head2 5.005_05-RC1 - no epigraph

Z<>

=head2 5.005_04 - no epigraph

Z<>

=head2 5.005_04-RC2 - Rudyard Kipling, "The Jungle Book"

The monkeys called the place their city, and pretended to despise
the Jungle-People because they lived in the forest. And yet they
never knew what the buildings were made for nor how to use
them. They would sit in circles on the hall of the king's council
chamber, and scratch for fleas and pretend to be men; or they would
run in and out of the roofless houses and collect pieces of plaster
and old bricks in a corner, and forget where they had hidden them,
and fight and cry in scuffling crowds, and then break off to play up
and down the terraces of the king's garden, where they would shake
the rose trees and the oranges in sport to see the fruit and flowers
fall.

=head2 5.005_04-RC1 - Lewis Carroll, "Alice's Adventures in Wonderland"

Either the well was very deep, or she fell very slowly, for she had
plenty of time as she went down to look about her and to wonder what was
going to happen next. First, she tried to look down and make out what
she was coming to, but it was too dark to see anything; then she looked
at the sides of the well, and noticed that they were filled with
cupboards and book-shelves; here and there she saw maps and pictures
hung upon pegs. She took down a jar from one of the shelves as she
passed; it was labelled 'ORANGE MARMALADE', but to her great
disappointment it was empty: she did not like to drop the jar for fear
of killing somebody, so managed to put it into one of the cupboards as
she fell past it.

=head1 ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

This document was originally compiled based on a list of epigraphs
on L<Perl Monks|http://perlmonks.org> titled
L<Recent Perl Release Announcement|http://perlmonks.org/?node_id=372406>
by ysth.

=cut

# vim:tw=72:
