For the common man in the sixteenth century, a calendar which paced not just the seasons but also the life of Christ would have to be divinely inspired. It would capture his heart and his mind. Pope Gregory's four hundred-year-one would become mincemeat.

“No sweat, Mister Goldstein. We jus' need somethin' to eat on.” “Matter with yer buddy there?” Goldstein asked suddenly. “He's lookin' a li'l pekid.” “Ain't used to workin' this hard, an' ain't eatin' right neither

[A]lways reminds me of one of the costlier knocking-shops, you know—'Maison Japonaise' …

Man, that new car you bought is bad!