From 29 November 1769:
Note to self regarding elocution: Do not forget the necessity of breathing per every natural clause ending and drinking from the flask only when it is a particularly gruesome audience--'twould be a shame for good Mr Franklin to offer lectures with no bite or particular vivacity. Also: Do not forget to iron the wig when necessary, and powder properly in front of the mirror--especially when in the presence of the French, who seem particular about judging the appearances of their intellectual counterparts from the New World.
Also: do not eat so much at the public forums. Your belches quite noticeably disturbed your MP cronies, particularly Mr Johnston. Also, it is damaging towards your complexion--rouge is the colour of gluttony.
From 9 April 1770:
I don't know where I would be without my whores.
From 25 December 1778:
It seems that Christmas has descended upon us once again. What an awful waste of time. Once, many years ago, it bore some meaning to me, or at least a fleeting moment or two of significant pondering. But now, it feels like nothing more than a simple excuse for people I don't care about to give me pointless trinkets. And the annual parties at Independence Hall--surely this evening Jay and Hamilton will get soused as per usual--and I will undoubtedly be the one left to hold back their wigs while they spend time kneeling in the w. c.--as per usual. What a bore. I'll never forget when Washington in his younger days was first becoming acquainted with his limits regarding spirits. He drank so quickly and just as quickly it came back up! And how it took its toll on his first set of teeth! The acids produced from his stomach all but ravaged the birch dentures, and he was in desperate pursuit of a dentist for the next few days!
From 12 April 1794:
The tyrant King George III only appears now in our dreams. Yet there he is, sitting on a throne, fingers clutching an orb or perhaps a similarly shaped vegetable. He smiles and his eyes are like fire. They never suited him in reality; only now does his face seem weathered the right way.
Patrick Henry approached me yesterday and asked if I knew of any good restaurants in the area.
Motion sickness has taken the best of your days and made them useless...or conversely, has made them more thoughtful than ever before?
While waiting in line for the bathroom, I was approached by several old women who were in search of a drinking fountain. I explained that where I came from they were called "bubblers." Then they left me alone.
From 4 November 1794:
France appears to have gone to all hell. Cancel vacation plans in Paris, Marsailles.
From 18 May 1799:
I wish to hell someone would get around to destroying that liberty bell. Of all the symbols a new nation can invest in--a cracked bell is one of them? I wish to God they would pay heed to my suggestion of melting it and turning it into a large bronze sculputre of Mr Franklin discovering how to harness electricity. That is a national symbol worth investing in.
Dusk: Mathilde's legs are joyous. Must remember to fix pocket clock.
From 10 January 1800:
The sunsets seem ever more beautiful to me now. I could sit gazing at them for hours, if only they lasted so long. Mathilde says they remind her of my shining face--or was it Josephine who said that? Regardless, as the years go by, the sun seems to only increase in aesthetic beauty.
Chief Justice Jay asked me for some advice this morning. He is seeking separation from his wife. Apparently he made the unfortunate discovery of recent that Mrs Jay is a first cousin. How, after sixteen years of marriage, this was not discovered is beyond my comprehension.
From 7 September 1801:
The entire beloved egalitarian French nation seems to be shoved up Napoleon's ass. I wonder how long it will last before people are clamoring for air.
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