It is meat, drink, and cloth to us. - François Rabelais

Gymnastes, Gargantua’ya düşmanın ardına düşmenin gerekli olup olmadığını sordu.
Gargantua şöyle karşılık verdi ona:
“Hiç gerekli değil, çünkü gerçek askerlik sanatı gereğince düşmanı umutsuzluğa düşürmemeliyiz; bıçak kemiğe dayandı mı, düşman yıpranıp tükenmekte olan gücünü ve yüreğini yeniden toparlayıverir. Hiçbir kurtuluş umudu kalmaması, bitmiş tükenmiş insanları diriltip kurtaracak olan ilaçların en iyisidir. Nice zaferler, yenenlerin elinden kaçıp yenilenlerin eline geçmiştir, çünkü yenenler hak ettikleri kadarıyla yetinmeyip her şeyi çiğneyip yok etmeye, düşmanlarını haber götürecek tek kişi bırakmamacasına öldürmeye kalkmışlardır! Düşmanlarınıza kapıları, yolları açın her zaman; hatta gümüşten bir köprü kurun onlara geçip gitmeleri için.

I have nothing, I owe a great deal, and the rest I leave to the poor.

He was forever wallowing in the mire, dirtying his nose, scrabbling his face, treading down the backs of his shoes, gaping at flies and chasing the butterflies (over whom his father held sway); he would pee in his shoes, shit over his shirt-tails, [wipe his nose on his sleeves,] dribble snot into his soup and go galumphing about. [He would drink out of his slippers, regularly scratch his belly on wicker-work baskets, cut his teeth on his clogs, get his broth all over his hands, drag his cup through his hair, hide under a wet sack, drink with his mouth full, eat girdle-cake but not bread, bite for a laugh and laugh while he bit, spew in his bowl, let off fat farts, piddle against the sun, leap into the river to avoid the rain, strike while the iron was cold, dream day-dreams, act the goody-goody, skin the renard, clack his teeth like a monkey saying its prayers, get back to his muttons, turn the sows into the meadow, beat the dog to teach the lion, put the cart before the horse, scratch himself where he ne’er did itch, worm secrets out from under your nose, let things slip, gobble the best bits first, shoe grasshoppers, tickle himself to make himself laugh, be a glutton in the kitchen, offer sheaves of straw to the gods, sing Magnificat at Mattins and think it right, eat cabbage and squitter puree, recognize flies in milk, pluck legs off flies, scrape paper clean but scruff up parchment, take to this heels, swig straight from the leathern bottle, reckon up his bill without Mine Host, beat about the bush but snare no birds, believe clouds to be saucepans and pigs’ bladders lanterns, get two grists from the same sack, act the goat to get fed some mash, mistake his fist for a mallet, catch cranes at the first go, link by link his armour make, always look a gift horse in the mouth, tell cock-and-bull stories, store a ripe apple between two green ones, shovel the spoil back into the ditch, save the moon from baying wolves, hope to pick up larks if the heavens fell in, mak