You Romans wash too much to be true men. Washing is for women, to clean our breeches and our vests. And even they barely let their toes touch the stream! Hah!

Oh, the unintended consequences of perfidy!

It is laughable how often good manners interfere with my survival.

When I asked him how this cramping might affect his sword arm, he assured me it was only the narrow grip of the writing instruments that troubled him.
“If we fought with pens,” he said, “I would be forced to fall upon mine.

Since my arrival in Rome, I have had many opportunities to wonder if compassion’s opposite is cruelty, or to reflect whether or not indifference would serve as a better black to its white.

I don't have anything to do with the washing up.