There’s ne’er a mile in Ireland’s Isle where the dirty vermin musters;
Where’er he put his dear forefoot he murdered them in clusters.
The toads went hop, the frogs went flop, slapdash into the water,
And the beasts committed suicide to save themselves from slaughter.

Old Irish Song

There’s only one person who needs a glass of water oftener than a small child tucked in for the night, and that’s a writer sitting down to write.

Mignon McLaughlin