A Day Without An Argument Is Like

And, Conversely, She Went On To Herself, Sneering At The Grand Duke's Palace, Poverty Is Wasted On The Poor, Who Never Know How To Make The Best Of Things, Are Only The Rich Without Money, Are Just As Useless At Looking After Themselves, Can't Handle Their Cash Just Like The Rich Can't, Always Squandering It On Bright, Pretty, Useless Things In Just The Same Way.

There Is A Striking Resemblance Between The Act Of Love And The Ministrations Of A Torturer.

He Is, I Think, Already Pondering A Magisterial Project: That Of Buggering The English Language, The Ultimate Revenge Of The Colonialised.

She Stood Lost In Eternity Wearing A Crazy Dress, Watching The Immense Sky.

Vengeful As Nature Herself, She Loves Her Children Only In Order To Devour Them Better And If She Herself Rips Her Own Veils Of Self-deceit, Mother Perceives In Herself Untold Abysses Of Cruelty As Subtle As It Is Refined.