We are America.
We are the coffin fillers.
We are the grocers of death.
We pack them in crates like cauliflowers.
—Anne Sexton (1928–1974)
Bohemia is nothing more than the little country in which you do not live. If you try to obtain citizenship in it, at once the court and retinue pack the royal archives and treasure and move away beyond the hills.
—O. Henry [William Sydney Porter] (1862–1910)
A favorite of outdoor alcoholics, connoisseurs and Fundamentalists, these pills turn water into wine. In 10 minutes the most fetid swamp scum in the forest can become modest red, elusive and light on first taste, yet playful—one might say a trifle impudent—on the afterbite. Saves pack space by eliminating need for bulky corkscrew, decanter and bottles. Store pills on their sides in a cool dark place.
—Alfred Gingold, U.S. humorist. Items From Our Catalogue, “Wine Pills,” Avon Books (1982)