I'm going to take a brief time-out from this job.

The story goes that James Whitcomb Riley, the poet, on a beautiful spring day, in making his way from his home to his office, was accosted by numerous friends on the way who were exclaiming most extravagantly on the beauty of the day. It was Good morning, Mr. Riley, a fine day; Good morning, Mr. Riley, […] a handsome day; […] .

We went in the hotel bar, sat down and proceeded to order some Slivovitz. When I first tasted it I thought that it was nice, but it tasted so much like apple cider that I said to myself, This stuff ain't so bad, and, before long, I had ordered many of these bad drinks.

[He] waits at distance till he hears from Cato.