A surfeit of the sweetest things
The deepest loathing to the stomach brings.
Midsummer Night’s Dream.
They are sick that surfeit with too much,
As they that starve with nothing.
Merchant of Venice.
This was the afternoon of Monday. Since Saturday noon I had not thought of tasting food.
Clara Barton (At Battle of Chantilly).
You have the full record of my sleep—from Friday night till Monday morning—two hours.
Clara Barton (Among the wounded at Chantilly).