In an ideal world, every weekend morning will be spent exactly like this: in striped men’s pajamas (seriously, where do you even buy this stuff), with a hot beverage (tea, with milk, and sugar, please) and fresh newspapers (there is something very devil-may-care about risking ink smudges on white sheets).


The older I get, the more I feel that successful living requires one to stick to certain rules.

For instance:

Never buy a half pint of beer when you can have a whole pint.

Because half-pints simply do not make sense.


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