Boobie, listen, I don’t know what to tell you. History is people being assholes to each other in increasingly sophisticated ways.
Sex. Brutality. Animal faces. Wrathful oceans. Rickety boats. Stupid men who robbed my human rights. Insecure love affairs. Floating corpses’ love affairs. Am I also a floating corpse? What else?
When he got to her she was sitting in the cart with her back to him, holding a quarter between her fingertips and looking at the people on the sidewalk coming toward her.
The newspapers are, sir, blight, disorder of the first order, just like everything that’s printed; but I tread all over it.
Beefeater Bill has no dignity.