I attribute the quarrelsome nature of the Middle Ages young men entirely to the want of the soothing weed.
Splendid cheeses they were, ripe and mellow, and with a two hundred horse-power scent about them that might have been warranted to carry three miles, and knock a man over at two hundred yards.
What I am looking for is a blessing not in disguise.
We drink [to] one another's health and spoil our own.
A glass of wine often makes me a better man than hearing a sermon.
We like, we cherish, we are very, very fond of—but we never love again.