Tonight's a mighty opportunity to have a party.

You remember the gentleman in “The Spectator,” who had a commission of lunacy taken out against him for his extreme singularity, such as never wearing a wig, but a night-cap. Now, Sir, abstractedly, the night-cap was best; but, relatively, the advantage was overbalanced by his making the boys run after him.

I'll go for a swim if it's warm enough.

It was a low moment when he lost to a smooth-talking Southern smart-ass like Bill Clinton—good thing he got a mulligan, sort of, when Georgie ran.