And if my heart be scarred and burned, The safer, I, for all I learned.

Now to me, Edith looks like something that would eat her young.

There was nothing separate about her days. Like drops on the window-pane, they ran together and trickled away.

He lies below, correct in cypress wood, And entertains the most exclusive worms.

Nevil Shute's On the Beach is no Christmas carol, but it seems to me a remarkably fine novel, one which I read, in the peculiarly repulsive phrase, with my eyes glued to the page.

ridicule may be a shield, but it is not a weapon.

Hell's afloat in lover's tears.