Few sons are equal to their fathers; most fall short, all too few surpass them.
Wine can of their wits the wise beguile, Make the sage frolic, and the serious smile
The other day, I was so desperate for a beer, I snuck into the football stadium and ate the dirt under the bleachers.
A hunter of shadows, himself a shade.
Even his griefs are a joy long after to one that remembers all that he wrought and endured.
But curb thou the high spirit in thy breast, for gentle ways are best, and keep aloof from sharp contentions.