The female toast.
The traveler goes through the desert, the heat, the sun in the zenith. He sees a man lying on the sand, dying and complaining:
Water is...
The passenger was sorry for the last drops of water left in his bottle, did not give, went on.
How long he walked, how short, but his conscience woke up. He returned, and the man was already dead.
So let’s drink for giving when you ask, not when you want to give, but to no one.