Life on Earth, you see, is not only brief but dismayingly tenuous.
I suppose all our lives must be at the end of a long chain of improbable coincidences,
Percy Bysshe (the only poet named for the sound of a match hitting water),
Norfolk specializes in odd pronunciations. Hautbois is hobbiss, Wymondham is windum, Costessey is cozzy, Postwick is pozzik. People often ask why that is. I’m not sure, but I think it is just something that happens when you sleep with close relatives.
It is always quietly thrilling to find yourself looking at a world you know well but have never seen from such an angle before.
In America, Benjamin Franklin famously risked his life by flying a kite in an electrical storm.
What on earth would I do if four bears came into my camp? Why, I would die, of course. Literally shit myself lifeless. I would blow my sphincter out my backside like one of those unrolling paper streamers you get at children’s parties-I daresay it would even give a merry toot-and bleed to a messy death in my sleeping bag.
Rich women, including the queen, made themselves additionally beauteous by bleaching their skin with compounds of borax, sulfur, and lead-all at least mildly toxic, sometimes very much more so-for pale skin was a sign of supreme loveliness. (Which makes the “dark lady
We live in a world that has practically no appreciation for quality, tradition, or classiness, and in which people who can’t spell even common words get to decide what survives. That
As my father always used to tell me, ‘You see, son, there’s always someone in the world worse off than you.’ And I always used to think, ‘So?