You will die now!, he spat out.

Having the flu all week left me pretty well out of it.

… Make Fools believe in their fore-seeing / Of things before they are in Being; / To swallow Gudgeons ere th' are catch'd, / And count their Chickens ere th' are hatch'd, …

[…] great chambers in the rock where all sorts of plants were growing, under windows which had been cut to let in the sun, and glazed to adjust his warmth, and where runnels of water ran between fruit trees and seedlings, pumpkin plants and herbs.