No. 2.—At the Home for the Incurably Insane.
It is a fine day today.
It is indeed a fine day, and I shall send a telegram to that effect to the Washington Post.
It is indeed a fine day, which is all the worse for you, my fair maiden.
It is not a fine day, and stating that it is will be considered an act of war against the Kingdom of Bavaria.
What would you like to do today?
Would you like to participate in some of the organized activities?
Would you like to gather weasels by the flowing stream?
Would you like to compose a roundelay with me?
The King of Bavaria presents his compliments, and inquires whether you would like to dance the Lindy Hop with him.
I would be delighted to dance the Lindy Hop with you, because I am in fact Charles Lindbergh.
It is not my custom to dance the Lindy Hop in months with no R.
I would dance the Lindy Hop with you, but sadly I have no umbrella.
My room is a very poor vintage, and I should like a better one.
My room is entirely adequate, and I despise adequacy.
My room is in Luxembourg; could you please retrieve it?
My room is not visible to the naked eye.
Is it Tuesday today?
Will it be Tuesday tomorrow as well?
It is Tuesday today, and it will be Tuesday tomorrow as well.
It is Tuesday today, but I am sorry to inform you that it will never be Tuesday again.
It has always been Tuesday.
Would you care to sup with me?
Would you care to dine on moonbeams and breakfast on emeralds?
The food here is appallingly Latvian.
The food here is edible, and so are the curtains.
I have not eaten food since the Ultramontanes came to power.
Do you speak English?
I do not speak English, and neither do you.
I would speak English if I were properly rewarded.
I am not satisfied with English, and have therefore invented my own language. Lunmer wandel plebrus kwokum sfat.