Bear Patiently, My Heart, For You Have

How Delicate Her Feet Who Shuns The Ground, Stepping A-tiptoe On The Heads Of Men.

Ah, Beer, My One Weakness. My Achille's Heel, If You Will.

Men In Their Generations Are Like The Leaves Of The Trees. The Wind Blows And One Year's Leaves Are Scattered On The Ground; But The Trees Burst Into Bud And Put On Fresh Ones When The Spring Comes Round.

We're Goin Bowling. If We Don't Come Back, Avenge Our Deaths.

And For Yourself, May The Gods Grant You Your Heart's Desire, A Husband And A Home, And The Blessing Of A Harmonious Life. For Nothing Is Greater Or Finer Than This, When A Man And Woman Live Together With One Hear And Mind, Bringing Joy To Their Friends And Grief To Their Foes.