Å·±¦ÓéÀÖ

“A man so various, that he seem'd to be
Not one, but all Mankinds Epitome.
Stiff in Opinions, always in the wrong;
Was every thing by starts, and nothing long:
But, in the course of one revolving Moon,
Was Chymist, Fidler, States-Man, and Buffoon:
Then all for Women, Painting, Rhiming, Drinking;
Besides ten thousand freaks that dy'd in thinking.
Blest Madman, who coud every hour employ,
With something New to wish, or to enjoy!
Rayling and praising were his usual Theams;
And both (to shew his Judgment) in Extreams:
So over Violent, or over Civil,
That every man, with him, was God or Devil.
In squandring Wealth was his peculiar Art:
Nothing went unrewarded, but Desert.
Begger'd by Fools, whom still he found too late:
He had his Jest, and they had his Estate.”
― John Dryden, Absalom and Achitophel

“If you intend to drink yourself to death,â€� Amelia had told Leo calmly, “I wish you would do it at a more affordable place.â€�
“But I’m a viscount now,� Leo had replied nonchalantly. “I have to do it with style, or what will people say?�
“That you were a wastrel and a fool, and the title might just as well have gone to a monkey?�
That had elicited a grin from her handsome brother. “I’m sure that comparison is quite unfair to the monkey.”
― Lisa Kleypas, Mine Till Midnight