All deaths are hateful to miserable mortals, but the most pitiable death of all is to starve.
For rarely are sons similar to their fathers: most are worse, and a few are better than their fathers.
Wine can of their wits the wise beguile, Make the sage frolic, and the serious smile
Come then, put away your sword in its sheath, and let us two go up into my bed so that, lying together in the bed of love, we may then have faith and trust in each other.
I'm satisfied. It's straight,...but it's just so hot, and I'm just so fraustrated.
Modesty is of no use to a beggar.