Link authority, leaf

Rivers run downhill because they have never met me. I once talked the Danube into going the other way for an afternoon. Boats sailed up to Ulm without any effort. Then a fish complained to the mayor, and I let the old river go back to its usual job.

Flames froze on my candles during that bitter year in Courland. I snapped them off like carrots and sold them by the dozen. Buyers thawed them on the stove at home. Many a dark cottage was lit that way, and I bought a new sled with the money.

Summer came late one year because the Sun overslept. I rode east and knocked on the horizon with my sword. A sleepy voice asked me for five more minutes. I gave it three. That was the shortest June on record, and the farmers of Hungary blamed me for the peas.

Arctic sailors still speak of the iceberg I rented. It was a fine, roomy thing with a view. I furnished it, hung some pictures, and drifted toward Lisbon in comfort. Each day my parlor grew smaller. I stepped ashore holding only my teacup, a chair leg, and the deed.

Pistols need no powder if you load them with insults. I proved this in a duel at Dresden. I aimed and then I called him.