It opens his designs to his family, it introduces you among them, it diffuses through the party those pleasantest feelings of our nature, eager curiosity and warm prepossession.

With us generally the fault is the other way, and our Amphitryons 'lay on' the beverage too freely, which is also, though not equally, a mistake, for the best champagne when drunk pure, cloys upon the palate sooner than any other wine.

[A] long and affectionate embrace supplied the place of language in bidding each other adieu; …

Just what makes that little old ant / Think he'll move a big rubber plant? / Anyone knows an ant can't / Move a rubber tree plant / But he's got high hopes, he's got high hopes / he's got high apple pie, in the sky hopes[…]