Now what is a wedding? Well, Webster's dictionary describes a wedding as the process of removing weeds from one's garden.

How vain, without the merit, is the name.

The skin of the coward changes color all the time, he can't get a grip on himself, he can't sit still, he squats and rocks, shifting his weight from foot to foot, his heart racing, pounding inside the fellow's ribs, his teeth chattering. He dreads some grisly death. But the skin of a brave soldier never blanches. He's all control. Tense but no great fear.

Insignificant mortals, who are as leaves are, and now flourish and grow warm with life, and feed on what the ground gives, but then again fade away and are dead.

If you don't like your job, you don't strike! You just go in every day, and do it really half assed. That's the American way.

I'm a people person...who drinks.

Sing, O muse, of the rage of Achilles, son of Peleus, that brought countless ills upon the Achaeans.