arete

One bourbon, one scotch, one beer. Parapraxes Freud called them. Perhaps Marie Antoinette was on my mind, though she only married into the French branch of the family. Or perhaps it's dysnomenia, an old affliction of mine. Crossett used to read selections from our weekly essays and blue book exams periodically. The first one of mine he read, he prefaced by saying, "I don't know what to do about this," the only time I ever heard him make that statement. He read my answer and said it was brilliant and beautiful but that I had unfortunately written about Joseph when the question was about Jacob (or vice versa.) I got an F.

So I lose the trees for the forest. Sue me.

The generation of men is as the generation of leaves. Or so I think Lattimore translated one of the combatant's speeches prior to a mano a mano to the death. When it's time to shoot, shoot.
There's always time to talk.

Talk is cheap.

A man's word is his bond.

-You don't say much, do you son?
-No, sir.
-That's good.

Mega biblion, mega kakon.