One day, when Giotto, the painter, was taking his Sunday walk, in his
best attire, with a party of friends, at Florence, and was in the midst
of a long story, some pigs passed suddenly by; and one of them, running
between the painter’s legs, threw him down. When he got on his legs
again, instead of swearing a terrible oath at the pig, on the
Lord’s-day, as a graver man might have done, he observed, laughing,
“People say these beasts are stupid, but they seem to me to have some
sense of justice; for I have earned several thousands of crowns with
their bristles, but I never gave one of them even a ladleful of soup in
my life.”