Вдогонку к предыдущему замечанию:
"I was accosted late one night on Highgate Hill by a staggering drunk who grabbed me by the lapels and, after tranquilising me with his foul
breath, pointed to the moon which was swollen in its fullness and
demanded of me threateningly. "How beautiful is the moon?...How
beautiful is the moon?" he repeated. Thinking quickly and not wishing
for an early toxic death, I fixed him with my eye and declaimed, "My
mistress' eye are nothing like the sun." Shakespeare is always useful
I've found for calming down violent drunks if only because it gives
them the impression that you're crazier then they are. "A good answer..."
he said. "A good answer" as he set off on a tack for Kentish Town like
a listing Galleon".