If A Man Owes Me Money, I

Quickly, Bring Me A Beaker Of Wine, So That I May Wet My Mind And Say Something Clever.

You Cannot Make A Crab Walk Straight.

Weak Mortals, Chained To The Earth, Creatures Of Clay As Frail As The Foliage Of The Woods, You Unfortunate Race, Whose Life Is But Darkness, As Unreal As A Shadow, The Illusion Of A Dream.

An Ancient Tradition Declares That Every Idiot Blunder We Pass Into Law Will Sooner Or Later Redound To Athens' Profit.

Prayers Without Wine Are Perfectly Pointless.