A calcined, scalped, rasped, scraped, flayed, broiled, powdered, leprous, blotched, mangy, grimy, parboiled country without trees, water, grass, fields ... it is infinitely liker hell than earth, and one looks for tails among the people.
A book is like a man - clever and dull, brave and cowardly, beautiful and ugly.
For every flowering thought there will be a page like a wet and mangy mongrel, and for every looping flight a tap on the wing and a reminder that wax cannot hold the feathers firm too near the sun.
Any walk through a park that runs between a double line of mangy trees and passes brazenly by the ladies toilet is invariably known as Lover's Lane.
Last Update: January, 2020