Generally It Is Our Failures That Civilize

When You Cut It Up, Put The Pieces In Your Mouth And Swallowed Them, The British Hamburger Shaped Itself To The Bottom On Your Stomach Like Ballast, While Interacting With Your Gastric Juices To Form An Incipient Belch Of Enormous Potential, An Airship Which Had Been Inflated In A Garage. This Belch, When Silently Released, Would Cause People Standing Twenty Yards Away To Start Examining The Soles Of Their Shoes. The Vocalized Version Sounded Like A Bag Of Tools Thrown Into A Bog.

One Way Or Another, All The Poets Of The Thirties And Forties Reacted To Auden, Either By Rejecting Him Or Trying To Absorb Him.

Spending All My Remaining Money On A Ticket To Florence Was Rendered Needlessly Complicated By The Fact That None Of The Ticket-sellers Had Ever Heard Of The Place. At Last Their Supervisor Showed Up And Set Them Straight By Informing Them That The City They Had Always Referred To As 'firenze' Was In Reality Called Florence.

People Should Be Stopped From Writing Poetry. There's Far Too Much Of It. And If They're Any Good, They'll Go Ahead Anyways.

Here Was My First Lesson On The Resolutely Maintained Untidiness And Ill-health Of The English Upper Orders. In Baggy Evening Dress And Old Before Their Time, They Displayed Gapped And Tangled Teeth In Loosely Open Mouths. Gently Shedding Dandruff, They Lurched Across The Lawn. When They Stood At The Bar They Looked Like Lee Trevino Putting.