I have a terrible brown thumb. I could probably kill silk flowers.

[…] will not get them gone for plain English, we will have one of Father Bacon's pupils from Oxford, to conjure [troublesome thoughts] away with logic and with Hebrew — Or, what say you to laying them in a glorious red sea of claret, my noble guest?

Not content with their thriving export slavery, the Portuguese resolved to make sure of this bad business by forging a second slave-chain of rum, vulgarly called “nigger killer.”]

Stay where you are.