Everything Will Turn Out Right, The World

Punch A Man On The Nose, Kick An Old Man Downstairs, Shoot Somebody Or Any Old Thing Like That, That’s My Job. But Argue With Women In Love—no Thank You!

Is That Vodka?" Margarita Asked Weakly. The Cat Jumped Up In His Seat With Indignation. "i Beg Pardon, My Queen," He Rasped, "would I Ever Allow Myself To Offer Vodka To A Lady? This Is Pure Alcohol!

I Challenge You To A Duel!” Screamed The Cat, Sailing Over Their Heads On The Swinging Chandelier.

Allow Me To Inquire How Man Can Control His Own Affairs When He Is Not Only Incapable Of Compiling A Plan For Some Laughably Short Term Such As, Say, A Thousand Years, But Cannot Even Predict What Will Happen To Him Tomorrow?

Well, As Everyone Knows, Once Witchcraft Gets Started, There's No Stopping It.