For death is life. It is only living that is lifeless.
By the piss of Satan, pug, your sauce is dangerous!
As the figure moved before him he followed the muscles as they wove beneath the skin. he was not only fighting with an assailant who was awaiting for that split second in which to strike him dead, but...
Yet not with all of me am I in love. Too much of my own quietness is with me.
When he at least reached the door the handle had cease to vibrate. Lowering himself suddenly to his knees he placed his head and the vagaries of his left eye (which was for ever trying to dash up and...
Through her, in microcosm, the wide earth sobbed. The starglobe sank in her; the colours faded. The death-dew rose and the wild birds in her breast climbed to her throat and gathered songless, hoverin...
This is the darkness: I have known great stormsScourge the long day - but this is motionlessAnd sterile: this is something featurelessThe blind brain turning upon drugs and worms.
These three sere beings at the shadowy corner waited on. Nannie was sixtynine, Keda was twenty-two, Titus was twelve days old.
Thereon were seated in a hundred decorative attitudes, or stood immobile like carvings, or walked superbly across their sapphire setting, interweaving with each other like a living arabesque, a swarm...
The laugh of Doctor Prunesquallor was part of his conversation and quite alarming when heard for the first time. It appeared to be out of control as though it were a part of his voice, a top-storey of...
The castle was round and about them, widespread and as unchartable as a dark day.
Something to remember, that: cats for missiles.
It was only when these nefarious doings were satisfactorily completed that Steerpike visited the aunts for the second time and re-primed them in their very simple rôles as arsonists.
It was as though Cutflower was so glad to be alive that he never lived. Every moment was vivid, a coloured thing, a trill or a crackle of words in the air. Who could imagine, while Cutflower was aroun...
Irma, my dear sister,' said Prunesquallor, 'I have two things to say. Firstly, why in the name of discomfort are we hanging around in the hall and probably dying of a draught that as far as I'm concer...
I was brooding, boy. Than which there is no richer pastime. It muffles one with rotting plumes. It gives forth sullen music. It is the smell of home.
I am your boat! I am your crewYour rudder and your mast -Your friend, I am your limpet tooAnd your elastoplast.-
I am clever enough to know that I am clever.
Home is a room dappled with firelight: there are pictures and books. And when the rain sighs, and the acorns fall, there are patterns of leaves against the drawn curtains. Home is where I was safe. Ho...
His youth had been so long ago that he could remember nothing of it but he presumed, erroneously, that he had tasted the purple fruit, had broken hearts and hymens, had tosses flowers to ladies on bal...