And dogged York, that reaches at the moon, / Whose overweening arm I have plucked back, / By false accuse doth level at my life.
In the Cambridge-improved version of tiddlywinks, potting isn't everything. […] Most of the matches I watched during the tournament were defensive struggles like this one, games that came down to squops, gromps and Bristols.
The Anglo-Saxon muddlehead is always doing this. It is his great intellectual excellence, and makes him the ridicule of Europe
To win wars you need to carpet-bomb civilians. And to get away with carpet-bombing civilians.
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