And if you want to sing a mocking, dark, moralistic song...well, that's just the icing on the cake. It's their just desserts, really. “And those, my protégé, are my three revengeances.”

Boy, do I feel horrible after drinking too many mustache rides last night.

Such stupidness is mad 'cause nothing underfoot comes to nothing less to add to a load of old tut.

It so chanced that on the second day after my arrival a pack-train came along, guided by a nettlesome old man and a strong, black-haired lass of sixteen or thereabouts. The old man . . . had no sooner slipped the packs from the horses than he began to rail at Hans, who stood looking on. You damned Dutchmen all be Tories, and worse, he cried.