Miserable mortals who like leaves at one moment flame with life eating the produce of the land and at another moment weakly perish.
From now on walking is my beer and feeling good is my hangover.
'T is fortune gives us birth, But Jove alone endues the soul with worth.
Sleep, delicious and profound, the very counterfeit of death
There is the heat of Love, the pulsing rush of Longing, the lover’s whisper, irresistible—magic to make the sanest man go mad.
Pine needle sorbet? Pine needle sorbet?! My kids do NOT eat sorbet. They eat sherbet, and they pronounce it sherbert, and they wish it was ice cream!