I drink no more than a sponge.
But where are the snows of last year? That was the greatest concern of Villon, the Parisian poet.
To good and true love, fear is forever affixed.
The deed will be accomplished with the least amount of bloodshed possible, and, if possible ..., we'll save all the souls and send them happily off to their abode.
No noble man ever hated good wine.
I'd gladly do without a valet. I'm never so well treated as when I'm without a valet.