Sleep, delicious and profound, the very counterfeit of death
It is not good to have a rule of many.
I wish that strife would vanish away from among gods and mortals, and gall, which makes a man grow angry for all his great mind, that gall of anger that swarms like smoke inside of a man's heart and becomes a thing sweeter to him by far than the dripping of honey.
Ah, beer, my one weakness. My Achille's heel, if you will.
The rest were vulgar deaths unknown to fame.
From now on walking is my beer and feeling good is my hangover.