Yes. He Is Quite A Good Fellow

In Seasons Of Pestilence, Some Of Us Will Have A Secret Attraction To The Disease--a Terrible Passing Inclination To Die Of It.

She Dotes On Poetry, Sir. She Adores It; I May Say That Her Whole Soul And Mind Are Wound Up, And Entwined With It. She Has Produced Some Delightful Pieces, Herself, Sir. You May Have Met With Her 'ode To An Expiring Frog,' Sir.

You Can Only Form The Minds Of Reasoning Animals Upon Facts: Nothing Else Will Ever Be Of Any Service To Them. Stick To Facts, Sir!

Joe Gave Me Some More Gravy.

In Truth, No Men On Earth Can Cheer Like Englishmen, Who Do So Rally One Another's Blood And Spirit When They Cheer In Earnest, That The Stir Is Like The Rush Of Their Whole History, With All Its Standards Waving At Once, From Saxon Alfred's Downwards.